


Dragonscourge

by Xylianna



Series: Dragonscourge [1]
Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, Complete, Crossover, F/M, Gen, M/M, Minor Violence, basically I tie together several of McCaffrey's world's into one universe and steal from them, but it's still primarily a Dragonriders crossover so that gets listed under fandom, i also borrow cast members from all sorts of Final Fantasy games, including Tower & Hive and Acorna and Crystal Singer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-16 19:44:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 71,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14172117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xylianna/pseuds/Xylianna
Summary: Hundreds of Turns have elapsed since the last Pass, and Thread is nothing more than a Harper’s tale until the day it blights Pern with a destruction more insidious than ever before.Thread had always seemed mindless - a mycorrhizoidal based lifeform that consumed any organic matter it encountered, not differentiating between the leaf on the branch, or humankind.This new Thread is different, carrying a sickness that threatens the very dragons pledged to protect Pern.Can the dragonriders, aided by the brightest minds Pern has to offer, defeat this new menace before dragons go extinct?To what purpose has this scourge targeted Pern? Who is behind it, and what do they hope to achieve?Only one thing is for certain: Dragons must fly when thread is in the sky.





	1. Freeday

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my new project, going live today in honor of Anne McCaffrey's birthday! I'm going to do my best with this to make it accessible to folks who aren't fans of both fandoms. Please see the end notes for some helpful links. I do not have a set update schedule, but for my sanity's sake, I'm going to try and shoot for one chapter a month since I am balancing four different stories. Thanks for giving my story a try - I hope you enjoy it! <3 <3
> 
> Beta-san [aliatori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori) kindly beta'd this, and all remaining errors are my own.
> 
> To clarify further: I have not read any of McCaffrey's books co-written with her son, or written by her son. Thanks. <3  
>  **Update** : During November 2018, I finally read all the 'newer' Pern books.

“Gladio!”

Gladio lifted his head from his book, eyes glinting in the warm midday sunlight as he latched his sight on to his best friend. “Hey, Noct.”

Noctis sat down on the bench beside him and shoved an errant hank of black hair back from his face impatiently. “Reading? We finally get a rare freeday and you’re spending it with a book?”

“What, I should spend it with you?” Gladio bumped his shoulder against Noct’s playfully. “I already see you in classes every day; can’t a guy use a freeday how he wants?”

“Not with me, dimglow,” Noctis sneered, though the humorous glint in azure eyes took any perceived sting from his words. “ _Them_.” He angled his head towards a small knot of women standing a few yards away in a gesture Gladio assumed was meant to be subtle.

“Noct, buddy, haven’t we had this talk before?” Gladio smirked, carefully marking the page in his book before shutting it. “Just because _you_ need help talking to girls doesn’t mean _I_ do.”

To be sure, Gladio had no shortage of attention from the fairer sex - from either sex, for that matter. It was easy to catch someone’s eye when you stood taller than everyone else in your Weyr. The effect was only increased when he’d put on the muscle mass to match the broad bone structure he’d been born with. His startlingly beautiful eyes - an intense honey brown best described as amber - captivated men and women alike, especially when paired with his rugged, easy smile.

“Shut up,” Noctis muttered petulantly. “I don’t need your help.” He folded wiry arms across his chest defensively. “I do just fine.”

Gladio laughed and slapped a hand on Noct’s shoulder. “I’m sure.”

In fairness to his friend, Noctis did always have a bevy of admirers following him around - though many of them stayed in the young man’s orbit simply because his parents were the Weyrleaders. Gladio thought it was a shame how few people looked past that. It wasn’t as if Noctis was a Lord Holder’s son, all but certain to inherit his father’s seat for himself someday. Weyrleadership wasn’t hereditary; Noctis had just as much chance as any other bronze rider would, assuming he both Impressed a dragon, and that dragon was bronze. Nor was Noctis’s father’s place guaranteed in perpetuity - the whims of the ranking queen dragon counted for almost as much as the general sentiment of the Weyr when such things were decided. Anything could happen during a mating flight.

Frown lines marred the suntanned planes of Gladio’s face as he considered the clutch hardening on the sands. This would be the last time he was permitted to stand, and he was well aware he was only being given this final opportunity by virtue of his father’s service to the Weyr. Gladio was just about to be aged out of consideration at 22 Turns of age. Despite Thread being a thing of the past, the Weyrs all still preferred potential riders be at least in their mid teens so they could learn faster, grow along with their dragons instead of being quickly outpaced by the rapidly maturing creatures. But there were limits, and Gladio was approaching them.

Those brilliant amber eyes were dour now. Ever since he could understand speech, he’d been listening to people tell him how he must surely be destined to ride a bronze, to be a Weyrleader, all because of his stupid eye color. Sure, everyone knew some of the greatest Weyrleaders of ancient times had the same eyes - but Gladio figured all his irises proved was that he came from the same genetic line as F’lon and F’lar.

Impression wasn’t a guarantee until it happened. And he’d been left standing at every Hatching he’d attended for the last six years, so at this point, he wasn’t expecting anything to change when the current clutch was ready, except that he’d finally be able to put the idea behind him for good and settle on a new life path.

“Hello?” Noctis waved a hand in front of Gladio’s face, breaking the larger man out of his introspection. “Gladio, did you hear anything I said?”

“No,” Gladio said. “Sorry.”

“I asked if you want to go peek at the eggs,” Noctis pitched his voice low so that nobody could overhear.

Gladio suppressed a sigh. Noctis had been standing for Impressions the last four years but still managed to maintain the same childlike sense of wonder that most candidates held onto for their first two Hatchings at most. Part of Gladio was irritated by the enthusiasm, but a bigger part of him was happy that his friend could still be so excited by something that had thus far ended in heartbreak for them both.

And Noctis was younger - this Hatching wasn’t as momentous for him as it was for Gladio. Even if Noct failed to Impress, he had two more years to try.

Shard it, moping around was not how Gladio wanted to spend his freeday. He nodded at Noctis and stood, tucking his book into a leather satchel hanging from his belt for just that purpose. “Let’s go.”

It was easy to make their way through the lower caverns and down the tunnel that lead to the Hatching Ground. No one thought to question either young man’s path since they had grown up in the Weyr. The candidates who’d been brought in from outlying regions were watched much more closely. Even that was primarily for their own safety. The few secrets the Weyr harbored were safely under lock and key. With telepathic dragons who in theory could read your thoughts at any time - not everyone had the benefit of knowing most dragons had zero desire to touch any mind other than their rider’s - crime was incredibly rare, and most people were scrupulously honest in their interactions. Many a holdbred rider had expressed what a profound and positive change it was to live in the Weyr.

The Hatching Ground itself was better guarded than anywhere else - how not, when the queen never left, and her mate was just a blink away?

As they drew near to the aperture leading into the great sandy hollow used by the golden queens for their clutches, Gladio turned his keen sight on the massive gleaming form of Reginth, the senior queen dragon of Insomnia Weyr. The sunlight scintillated off her brilliant hide, causing Gladio to lift one wide-palmed hand to shade his eyes. He could see the eggs scattered around the hot sands, arranged in no particular order that he could discern. If you timed your visit right, you could watch as Reginth rearranged each and every one, turning them so each side got its chance to soak up sun, rolling them into new places in the zig-zagging pattern she’d made of them.

Except for the queen egg, of course. The single egg bearing a bright golden shell was off to one side in a place of honor, of extra security. Reginth slept beside it, one foreleg outstretched so that her talons nearly brushed against the shell.

Queen eggs were the only ones you could accurately guess the contents before hatching occurred. All the other eggs were similarly dissimilar - some mottled, some solid color, some simply the plain off-white you’d expect in an egg. The largest egg on the sands could hold a green, that tiny sapphire-tinged egg off to the side could hold a bronze - you just never knew until the shells started to crack.

People had their guesses, of course. Those riders who’d been around a long time could usually come quite close in their wagers. It was considered great sport to place good natured bets on the outcome of the Hatching. How many bronzes? Which egg held which color? Which would hatch first? Which candidates would find their other halves, and which would be left standing?

Gladio’s heart sank as he skimmed his gaze over the lines of eggs. At his first Hatching, no one had bet against the chance that he’d Impress, and few were willing to wager on the notion he’d Impress anything less than a bronze.

But now? He’d heard the muttering. Aside from those closest to him, not many people thought he’d pass muster. He couldn’t blame them with how many times over how many years he’d been left behind.

Maybe it was time to seriously consider what he was going to do with the rest of his life. He didn’t really have any skills to speak of - well, okay, he could read, keep a drum beat, gut and skin herdbeasts, prepare basic food. And he knew a fair bit about how to care for a dragon, of course. Everyone in a Weyr picked up little bit of _everything_ , but Gladio wasn’t a master of _anything_.

Before she’d died the previous Turn, his mother had suggested he apply to the Harper Hall. With his affinity for books and stories, Gladio didn’t doubt he could find a place there, even with his decided lack of musical talent beyond the most basic of drum beats. But to be a Harper was to do far more than merely spin tales around a campfire, and he didn’t think he’d be best suited to the politics involved. He also didn’t much care for the idea of being an apprentice at his age. Despite the rules and rituals of Weyr life, Gladio knew it afforded way more freedom than the average apprentice enjoyed.

No. If he wasn’t to have a dragon, he’d have to do _something_ … but what?

Gladio came out of his thoughts and back into the present and swore under his breath when he realized Noctis was stealthily creeping closer to the eggs. “Noct! Get back here!” Gladio hissed as loudly as he dared, eyes darting to the massive slumbering bulk of the queen.

Noctis, the little shit, met his eyes and kept on going, a sly grin quirking his thin lips.

With a long suffering sigh, Gladio leaned back and peered down the corridor. No one was approaching, and the queen still slept. They were safe.

For now.

Gingerly, Gladio stepped out onto the scorching sands, the heat evident even through the tough leather of his boot-soles. “Noctis!” he whispered. “Let’s get outta here.”

“I just want to look at them,” Noctis didn’t bother to subdue his tone, and Gladio nearly cursed again.

“We’ll be here in class tomorrow,” Gladio argued.

“Yeah, but that’ll be different. It’ll be all crowded and noisy. This is better.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Gladio muttered, still balefully eyeing the queen, certain she was going to wake up and trumpet her anger at any moment. He slowly approached Noctis, who was standing beside a quite unremarkable egg of middling size, it’s shell mottled with small brown patches.

“A brown would be good,” Noctis said in consideration. “A brown would mean I couldn’t be Weyrleader.”

“Could still be Weyrlingmaster or Wingsecond,” Gladio helpfully pointed out.

“ _Ugh_ , you’re right,” Noctis said. “Since I have no desire to train up new riders or be a Wingleader’s assistant and deal with all that paperwork...Blue, then.”

“Noctis, if you walk off these sands with anything but bronze, I’ll eat my bootlaces,” Gladio said wryly.

“Heard and witnessed!” Noctis said quickly, raising his hand in the air.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Gladio groused. “I wasn’t making an oath.”

“No backing out now,” Noctis taunted his friend with a wide grin. “Better wash them good before the Hatching.”

“You know you ain’t gonna ride a blue,” Gladio said evenly. “I’ve never met someone more suited for a bronze than you.”

“And this coming from ol’ amber-eyes himself,” Noct drawled, slanting a sly look in Gladio’s direction for a brief moment before returning his attention to the small spotted egg.

“Fuck you,” Gladio said with feeling.

The queen’s brassy bellow served to punctuate his expletive, and Gladio wasn’t ashamed to admit he nearly shit his pants.

“Run!” Noctis yelped, putting action to word and sprinting towards the doorway so quickly it was almost as if he’d gone _between_.

Gladio was a pace behind him, and when Noctis abruptly skidded to a halt, Gladio wasn’t able to stop in time, barreling right into the smaller man and causing them both to tumble gracelessly to the sandy ground.

After Gladio had wiped the sand from his face, he looked up to see the Werylingmaster’s unamused face scowling down at the pair of them.

“Too impatient to wait until tomorrow?” Cor asked dryly, folding his arms across his chest rather than offering either of them a hand up.

Gladio pushed to his feet, tugging Noctis up easily. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said simply, knowing Cor wouldn’t care for any excuses they could come up with.

“It was my fault,” Noctis asserted. “I had the idea, Gladio just followed me to make sure I was safe.”

“But follow he did, so he’ll share the same punishment,” Cor said.

“Yes, sir,” both young men said in chorus, standing straighter as they awaited their sentence.

“You won’t come with the class tomorrow,” Cor said. “You’ve already had your peek today. Instead, you’ll report to the kitchens and see if Takka needs some pots scrubbed clean. I’m sure he can use the help with the crowds coming for Hatching in just a few days.”

Dish duty was the _worst_. Gladio would have to contort himself nearly in half just to get at the bottoms of the massive cauldrons, his height being a definite detriment to the process.

But, he’d brought this on himself. “Yes, sir,” Gladio acknowledged respectfully.

“Yes, sir,” Noctis muttered resentfully. Gladio elbowed him and then nodded approvingly when Noctis repeated his words in a much more polite tone of voice.

At least that was one thing to look forward to - one way or another, after the Hatching, Gladio would be his own man. Well, okay; if he did succeed at bonding with a dragon, he’d be that dragon’s man unequivocally, irrevocably, _forever_. But if he failed… he’d go out into the world and find some new life, and it certainly wouldn’t include scrubbing pots and pans.

For now, he had the rest of his freeday, and he intended to spend it relaxing in anticipation of the grunt work tomorrow. “Gonna go read some more,” he said to Noctis.

“See you at dinner,” Noctis waved and headed off, no doubt to find another way to get into trouble.

Gladio didn’t feel like sitting in the main bowl again - at this hour, it would be crowded, and he wasn’t in the mood for people watching. Nor was he in the mood for the whispered comments and pointed stares.

Instead he made his way to the lower entrance of the Weyr - the one used by those who didn’t have the privilege to ride adragonback. Gladio walked out and made his way about a mile away from the Weyr proper. He was still plenty close enough to be recalled quickly if the eggs were to hatch unexpectedly early, but fair enough away to enjoy a little peace and quiet. He didn’t often crave solitude, but sometimes it was just nice to get outside and keep company with nothing but the trees, hear nothing but the whisper of the wind through the grass.

Gladio settled his back against the thick trunk of an ancient oak, pulled out his book, and smiled as he prepared to subsume himself in the story for the next several hours.


	2. Search

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the ever-amazing [aliatori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori)! All remaining errors are my own.

Prompto was pretty sure that when he was old and gray and reflecting on what he hoped would be a long and interesting life, he’d look back on today as being one of the best days of it. One of those pivotal moments that completely changes the axis upon which your path is set, shifting gears to something so new and exciting that you’ve gotta keep pinching yourself just in case you’re dreaming.

The beautiful blue dragon had landed in Citadel Hold’s courtyard with a graceful backwing, and turned those brilliant multifaceted eyes on _him_.

Prompto had to make himself clasp his hands at the small of his back when the dragon leaned forward so that he wouldn’t forget himself and pat it. The dragon’s snout practically touched him as it seemed to take his scent. This close he could see the way those gemstone eyes whirred, flickering shades of blue and green. He knew he should stay very, very still, and that this was a great honor.

Everyone knew a clutch was hardening on the Weyr sands. This had to be a dragon and rider scouting prospective riders.

It wasn’t the first time dragons had come to the Hold in Search, but it was the first time one was so interested in Prompto.

So enrapt was he by the intelligence gleaming in those fathomless eyes, Prompto didn’t even notice the dragonrider was talking to him. He quickly sketched a bow, wearing a sheepish smile when he again stood upright. “Well met, blue rider!”

The rider removed his wehr-hide helmet to allow a mass of thick silver-white hair to cascade down around his shoulders. The paleness of his hair only emphasized the brilliant violet of his eyes - several shades darker than Prompto’s own amethyst gaze. A small, amused smile quirked the rider’s lips. “No need for such formality, lad,” he said with a lazy drawl, leaning against his dragon's neck. “I’m Setzer, rider of Maeruth here.”

“P-Prompto,” he managed to reply. “How may I be of service, blue rider?” Prompto asked, remembering his manners.

“Ever dream of riding a dragon, lad?” Setzer answered his question with a question. “To soar the open skies with nothing but your dragon and the winds for company?” His eyes went unfocused, and when Prompto saw Setzer glance at his dragon, he realized they must be communicating. He’d heard that dragons could talk inside your mind - inside their riders’ minds - and very rarely, they’d talk to someone else.

Prompto held himself very still and silent, straining to see if he could catch an echo of that silent draconic voice.

Setzer laughed, and the barking cough that emerged from Maeruth must be his version of laughter.

“Well, you seem keen enough, and Maeruth likes you,” Setzer said. “How old are you?”

“Twenty, dragonrider.”

“Parents or Craftmaster I need to talk to?” Setzer paused to grin conspiratorially. “I won’t have it said you were stolen away to the Weyr without a trace.”

“No parents,” Prompto said quietly. “And I’m not a part of any craft. I’m just kinda… here.”

“Well, now you’ll be ‘just kinda… here’ at the Weyr,” Setzer said grandly, turning to mount his dragon.

The massive beast folded its forelegs, lowering itself closer to the ground as Setzer buckled his helmet back in place and extended a gauntleted hand towards Prompto.

“That is, if you’ll answer the Search?”

“Shells,” Prompto breathed the invective reverently. “Try and stop me!” Taking the rider’s hand, he clambered up to sit behind him, finding it convenient that the dragon’s spinal ridges seemed perfectly placed to form small seats. He managed not to fidget too much as Setzer buckled leather safety straps in place around them both. Once the two men were settled, Setzer craned his head around to meet Prompto’s wide eyes with another fierce grin.

“You ready to fly, lad?”

Prompto nodded. His mouth was too dry to talk.

When the dragon sprang aloft, he managed not to scream, but he wasn’t too proud to admit it was a very close call. As they circled higher into the air, Prompto watched the massive Hold dwindle until it seemed to be a child’s toy. His cheeks were pink from the buffet of the wind, his eyes bright with excitement.

“Ready for _between_?” Setzer shouted over his shoulder. “Count your heartbeats!”

Prompto’s eyes grew even wider. _Between_ , said to be a black void where you couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel the touch of your own hands clasped together. It was the nothingness the dragons somehow used to travel instantaneously from point to point. Prompto knew it was perfectly safe, but he took a deep breath before shouting an affirmative reply.

A breath, and then... blackness.

_Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’tpanicdon’tpanicdon’tpanic_. Prompto’s thoughts grew frantic and he realized he couldn’t feel the hand he lay on his chest to find his heartbeat. Couldn’t hear it thundering in his chest. _Breathe, Prompto. Breathe_.

One more endless moment and they emerged into brilliant sunlight above the Weyr.

It was amazing. Most Weyrs were founded in the craters of inactive volcanoes and Insomnia Weyr was no exception. The rim of the massive Weyr bowl was speckled with a rainbow of dragons. Prompto saw a couple massive bronzes, a bevy of nimble greens, a few scattered sturdy browns. No blues - but perhaps they were all on Search. Prompto didn’t know much Weyr lore, but even he had heard that blue dragons were often the most skilled at seeking out candidates for Impression. From this high above, he could just make out the somnolent golden bulk of the queen where she slumbered in the Hatching Grounds.

As Maeruth began circling lower, Prompto continued drinking in the sights of what was - hopefully - his new home. Not that life had been bad at the Hold, not exactly. He just hadn’t ever really fit. None of the crafts called to him, and without a family unit of his own he tended to get lost in the shuffle.

Prompto wondered if he could make friends here. He’d never had a friend before, and he thought that would be almost better than having a dragon. Although he supposed his dragon would be his best friend, mind-bonded as they would be.

But even if he didn’t Impress a dragon… maybe he could still find a place for himself at the Weyr.

* * *

Daybreak at Tenebrae Hold was always a wondrous thing. Lunafreya walked the scant distance across her personal chamber and gazed out the window dreamily, observing the shift in colors. All the shades of yellow and pink and orange melded together like a real life painting in the sky as the sun crested the horizon and began its daily ascent.

When sunrise had passed, she turned with a sigh to regard her luxuriant bedroom. Within the room she was surrounded by the finest of furnishings - hardwood furniture crafted in distant Lemos, the finest rugs the Weavercrafthall could produce, and a wardrobe filled with the most beautiful gowns her brother could have brought in from the far corners of the world. And her window gave her a stunning view of the Tenebraean lands, high up in the tower as her room was placed.

She’d trade it all in an instant to be free.

Since the untimely death of their mother, her brother Ravus in his new role as Lord of Tenebrae Hold had kept her sequestered. “It’s for your safety, Luna,” she muttered in a sullen imitation of his slightly nasal voice. “Look what happened to Mother.” She made a rude gesture towards her locked door and turned to stride back to the window. Lunafreya didn’t bother to dress in any of those fine gowns - why bother changing from her nightdress when she wasn’t going to see anyone?

She stared out her window until the sun had reached its zenith. After a while, she wasn’t really seeing the lush trees and fields of crops, her thoughts having turned inward. But it was nice to feel the warmth of the sun on her pale face.

Lunafreya daydreamed about what it would be like had she been born to another family, in another place. Were she not the daughter of Tenebrae, she could have done so many things. Been so many things. A farmer. A tanner. A weaver. A cook. She could have met a boy and fallen in love, and given him children who would tend them when they grew old.

But, her life was what it was. Truly, she knew she was privileged to have such safety. She never had to wonder if there’d be enough food or water - Pern had been so prosperous in the hundreds of Turns since Thread had last fallen, hunger was largely a thing of the past.

Lunafreya tried to be grateful. But it was sharding hard when she was kept locked away from the world, her days idle and boring as she waited for Ravus to choose a husband for her.

While she wasn’t excited at the prospect of an arranged marriage, at least it would free her from this damnable chamber.

She was drawn out of her spiraling thoughts by a most unusual sight. Why, there was a dragon circling Tenebrae - and that couldn’t only be the sunlight’s glitter: it was a gold dragon. Lunafreya inhaled sharply in shock; the golden queens so rarely left their Weyrs. At the very least, Lunafreya had never seen one. It was enormous.

It was beautiful.

As she watched out her window, she saw the dragon land, lowering gracefully to allow her rider to climb down to the ground. The dragon seemed content to stay right where she was, spreading her wings and settling down to soak up the sunbeams.

Luna could just barely make out the tiny figure of the rider as she strode into the Hold proper. Once the rider had disappeared, Luna turned her attention back to the resting dragon. How wonderful, she thought, to partner with one of those great, gallant beasts. While Thread was a distant memory, the dragons still did much for Pern and her citizens, and Lunafreya thought that would be a fine way to spend her life if she had any say in it.

She feared it was a perilously arrogant train of thought, but Lunafreya always felt she was meant for so much more than being bartered in marriage for political alliance.

And so she stood gazing upon the gleaming dragon, her heart full of longing and her head full of dreams. She was caught off guard by a knock at her door. No one ever knocked because no one ever came to her door, save for the servants who brought her meals twice a day and her bath once a week. Sparing a brief moment to wish she had dressed, Lunafreya smoothed back her golden hair into a semblance of neatness and then crossed her chamber and opened the door.

Ravus was standing there - unsurprising, since he held the key that kept her imprisoned therein. With him was a woman Luna had never seen before - surely she’d remember someone so strikingly beautiful. The stranger looked at her with sparkling dark eyes, and Luna blushed, realizing part of her guest’s humor must surely be her own state of undress.

“Sister,” Ravus said briskly. “This is Rider Garnet, of Insomnia Weyr. She wishes to speak with you."

“Junior weyrwoman, actually.” Garnet’s voice managed to be the perfect blend of castigation and apology. Luna liked her already. “Leave us, Lord Ravus. I would speak with Lady Lunafreya alone.”

For a moment, Lunafreya thought Ravus was going to argue. But apparently even he wouldn’t face off against a dragonrider, though his face was cast in anger as he closed the door. Luna listened closely and felt almost giddy when she didn’t hear him lock the door. Of course, locking up a dragonrider - a queen’s rider no less - could be seen as an act of aggression against the Weyr.

And that large, magnificent beast resting in the sun could well tear the Hold asunder to free her partner.

“Now that we’re alone,” Garnet said in a melodious soprano. “Let’s dispense with the formality, shall we?”

“As you wish,” Luna agreed nervously. She strove for outward serenity as her heart hammered in her chest. “I haven’t any refreshment to offer, but would you like to sit down?” She smiled, having great practice at hiding herself behind a facade of benign cheer. “I’ve been admiring your dragon from my window. If I may be so bold, however,” she paused, taking a deep breath, “what brings a queen dragon and her rider to Tenebrae?”

“You.”

Lunafreya blinked. “I… I don’t understand.” _By the Egg of Faranth, she couldn’t mean…_ “Have I done something to offend the Weyr? Please, explain yourself.”

“There’s a queen egg hardening on the sands,” Garnet said conversationally, bypassing the chair Luna had held out for her and choosing to stand at the window. “I ride in Search. Will you answer the call?”

Lunafreya was grateful to be standing beside an empty chair, for she slumped into it quite inelegantly, mouth agape as the rider’s words sunk in. How could it be that with nine words all of her dreams could be realized?”

After taking a moment to breathe, Luna managed a dignified reply that was only faintly colored with incredulity. “I would be honored, Lady Rider.”

“Please, just Garnet,” Garnet said with a wave of her hand. “We save the high protocol for Lords like your brother.” She winked, causing Luna to laugh.

Thoughts churning rapidly, Lunafreya came up with another question. “Impression is not a guarantee,” she said carefully. “What would befall me if I don’t bond with the new queen?”

“We would bring you home.”

“What if…” Luna trailed off, catching her lower lip in her teeth.

“Don’t want to come back here? I can’t say I blame you.” Garnet walked around the circular chamber, dark eyes scanning its contents. “It’s a lovely prison, but still a prison.” She turned back to Luna and smiled. “Be assured, if you don’t wish to return here, a place will be found for you at the Weyr.”

Lunafreya was so happy she could have wept. So she did.

Garnet hugged her and patted her back until her tears ran dry. “You might want to dress warmly,” the rider suggested. “It’s quite windy in flight.”

Luna hastily chose her warmest dress, layering several skirts and wrapping herself in a thick cloak. Fur-lined gloves, thick stockings, and sturdy leather shoes were perhaps not the most ideal riding gear, but it was all she had.

She followed Garnet out of the room without a single backward glance. There was nothing there she wished to take with her, nothing but memories she’d just as soon forget. They didn’t get far before Ravus caught up to them.

“Luna! Where are you going?” his voice was harsh, but when he saw the censure in the weyrwoman’s gaze, his tone turned unctuous. “I only mean that you need not trouble yourself; I can see our guest out.”

“I’m taking Lady Lunafreya to the Weyr, to stand for the queen egg,” Garnet said implacably. When Ravus’s face twisted in barely suppressed rage, she continued in a mild tone that was a stark contrast to the stern cast of her features. “It is a great honor to Tenebrae Hold for one of their own to be chosen. Wish your sister well, then we must be off.”

“Take care, Lunafreya,” Ravus said, and Luna could feel the menace underlying the words. But her newfound freedom made her bold, so she lifted her chin proudly as she met his heterochromatic gaze.

“And you, dear brother,” she said, before turning and following Garnet outside.

Oh, the fresh air was wonderful! Luna inhaled deeply, tipping back her head to spill the hair away from her face, delighting in the feel of the gentle breeze.

Garnet allowed her a moment to soak it all in, then urged Lunafreya towards her dragon. “Let’s go!”

Luna’s heart soared even as the dragon did. A blink, and Tenebrae was gone, replaced with all-consuming blackness. Another blink, and she saw the glory of the Weyr spread out below.

She _knew_ her life was meant for more. And today, she took the first steps down that path.

* * *

Ignis first realized something was amiss when he heard the apprentice choir fall silent in the middle of their practice. He cocked his head to the side, listening for a drum message, but could hear nothing but silence from the direction of the drum heights. How curious. He rose from the records he was pouring over and headed out of the archives, making his way down the labyrinthine hallways of the Harper Hall with clipped, precise steps until he spilled out into the courtyard. It was so crowded, you’d think it was a Gather Day. Wait. _Was_ it a Gather Day? A glance towards the flagpole showed him that no, it was simply bearing the Fort Hold banner, not the gather flag.

Adjusting his spectacles on the bridge of his nose in a nervous habit that he insisted helped him gain greater clarity of sight, Ignis looked around at all the holders and Harpers swarming around the shared field. A brief break in the horde showed him the reason why - a dragonrider had landed in the midst of all the chaos. From this distance, Ignis could tell little save he was a bronze rider and wearing an enormous grin.

Ignis walked closer, desiring more information. As he approached, he could see the rider wore the insignia of Insomnia Weyr. How curious. Here they were far more likely to be visited by Fort or Benden than the distant Weyr on the Western Continent. As Ignis mulled over this anomaly, the Masterharper strode forth, the others stepping back to allow him a clear path to the bronze rider.

“How may the Harper Hall serve, bronze rider?” Masterharper Edward asked in his mellifluous baritone, his voice carrying easily over the din of the crowd.

“I ride in Search,” the rider responded cheerily as he leapt down from his great bronze beast. He patted the dragon’s neck affectionately before walking towards Edward. “Something told me the Harper Hall might have a likely candidate or two who could benefit the Weyr.”

“You honor us,” Edward murmured politely. “Please, walk about as you wish and speak to our youths. I’m sure any you select would be honored to stand for Insomnia’s clutch.”

“My thanks,” the bronze rider inclined his head, respectful of the Craftmaster’s rank.

As Ignis watched, he began moving through the crowd, chatting with… well, everyone. This rider seemed to make no distinction between master and drudge, between man or woman. He had a kind word and a ready grin for each person he encountered, and Ignis found himself drawn in by the unconscious charisma displayed with the rider’s kindness. He held himself back and continued to observe until eventually the rider stood before him, one eyebrow quirked in bemusement at the intensity of Ignis’s scrutiny.

“And you are…?” the bronze rider asked.

“Ignis, Journeyman Harper,” he replied with a bow appropriate for the dragonman’s rank.

“Nyx. Bronze rider… obviously,” Nyx said with that ready grin of his.

“Well met,” Ignis said politely. “I do hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“I think I just did.”

Ignis blinked owlishly before narrowing his eyes. “Explain.”

“My Ulrith likes you,” Nyx said. “How old are you, Ignis? Ever thought about riding a dragon?”

“I’m twenty-one years old, and no - I’ve always been content to be a Harper,” Ignis replied tersely. Unease uncoiled to fill his gut as he considered his options, trying to form a strategy in which he could refuse the Search without insulting the Weyr. A quandary, indeed.

“Not too old, then,” Nyx said, cheerfully ignoring the latter half of Ignis’s statement. “What say we go back to the Weyr?”

“I think you should keep looking, bronze rider,” Ignis said stiffly with another bow. “I thank you for the honor, but my place is here.”

_Your place is the Weyr_ , a voice sounded in Ignis’s mind, causing verdant eyes to widen in shock. It sounded like a distant echo of Nyx’s voice - was it his dragon?

“Told you Ulrith likes you,” Nyx said, slinging a companionable arm around Ignis’s shoulders. “We need men like you, Ignis.”

“You don’t even know me,” Ignis said, his voice as dry as a fine Benden red.

“You Harpers have more learning than most. We can use that.” Nyx flashed that quicksilver grin again, cerulean eyes sparkling. “Besides, it’s not often my fellow will speak to someone other than me. You really should consider it.”

“Indeed you should,” the Masterharper spoke from behind Ignis.

Ignis sighed and turned to face his master. He knew he had little choice now that Edward was aware he’d been Searched. It would be a greater insult than Ignis could even consider to turn his nose up with his Craftmaster’s blessing combined with being spoken to by the dragon himself. “Very well.”

“Great!” Nyx said enthusiastically. “Now then, Masterharper, before we go…” the words trailed off as the two men walked out of Ignis’s hearing.

That was settled, then. With another put-upon sigh, Ignis headed back inside the Hall, climbing the stairs to the Journeymen’s dormitories and beginning to pack his belongings. He had no family to say goodbye to, but there were a few friends he’d like to catch up with before he was spirited away to the Weyr. Now that the decision was made, Ignis could admit to being a bit excited at the prospect. Being a dragonrider didn’t necessarily mean he couldn’t continue to practice his vocation - there were Weyrsingers, and while Ignis’s primary talents as a Harper were in different directions, it would do well for him to maintain ties to his former Craft.

Of course, he might not Impress, and then he could simply return to his duties as if nothing had changed.

Except from the moment he’d heard that draconic voice in his head _everything_ had changed.

Ignis knew he’d never be the same.

As he finished packing his things, he nursed the fervent hope that a dragonet might find him worthy of Impression so  he could hear a dragon’s voice once more. Did dragons sing? Did they like music, stories? Ignis had so many questions, and he’d soon be in the place where he could get the answers. He headed out into the gather field, exchanging farewells with his friends along the way. Once there, he settled down to wait, standing near the dragon but keeping a respectful distance apart.

Imagine… Ignis, an orphaned peasant boy from the outskirts of Tenebrae, not only attaining Journeyman rank in the prestigious Harper Hall, but becoming a dragonrider.

The thought was so outlandish, he couldn’t help but smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed, I'm using characters from other Final Fantasy games to fill out the cast. The major roles will all be played by our XV characters!
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3 Let me know what you think! <3 <3


	3. Education

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The candidates learn about the Weyr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the amazing [aliatori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori) \- the inevitable errors are all on me and my coffee addiction <3

Gladio was up with the sun as usual. It was hard to sleep in when dragons trumpeted their greetings to the start of a new day. He didn’t mind, though. Most all the Search riders were back, and today the Weyrling classes would begin. Gladio didn’t really need to attend - he’d grown up in the Weyr, and this wasn’t his first Hatching - but he always did. He figured it helped build camaraderie with the other candidates, and that would be a good thing to have a head-start on before Impression.

After a quick breakfast, Gladio made his way down to the teaching room and took a seat in the back. He wasn’t the first one there. That distinction went to a sandy-haired man Gladio thought came from the Harper Hall. All set with parchment and quills, too.

As he watched, others slowly trickled in. When Noctis arrived he came and sat beside Gladio as expected, and they shared a fistbump in greeting. The last person to arrive was a breathtaking blonde woman who sat apart, though Gladio got the feeling it was from nervousness rather than arrogance. He made a note to say hello to her later; she had the potential to ride a queen and it was never too early to make a good impression on a potential Weyrwoman.

When the Weyrlingmaster started to speak, Gladio gave him his undivided attention, sitting up straight on his bench.

“You’re all here because someone thought you might have the makings of a dragonrider.” Weyrlingmaster Cor’s voice was as dry as his facial expression. He was very obviously unimpressed, but that was okay - it wasn’t he, after all, they needed to Impress but the tiny creatures waiting in those hardening eggs. “Myself? I expect a good half of you would shit your breeches if a dragonet stumbled in your direction.” The corners of his thin lips curved up in the trace of a sardonic smile. “But it’s my job to assume the worst and take these new few days - weeks if we’re lucky - to cram as much knowledge into your heads as possible so that if by some miracle a dragon _does_ choose you, you’re not entirely unprepared.”

“I assume you all have some basic knowledge. Everyone on Pern picks up a bit between the Harper ballads and storytelling around the fire.” Cor paced as he spoke, his eyes sweeping over the class. “Get comfortable. I’m going to give you a crash course on dragonrider basics to fill in any gaps you might have in your knowledge.”

“Dragons come in different sizes and colors. There are two varieties of female - the greens, and the golds. The golden dragons are the dragon queens - the other dragons obey them implicitly, and they lay the eggs that give us future dragon generations. The greens are the smallest dragons, and the quickest and most agile in flight. They are also the most populous in the Weyr, so it’s a good thing that chewing firestone renders them barren, or Pern would overflow with little green dragons before one Turn was out.” Cor’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Queens don’t chew firestone - but their riders carry flamethrowers when needed.”

“Of course, firestone and flamethrowers being a _need_ ended with the last Threadfall hundreds of years ago. Dragonriders occasionally help with controlled burns of farm fields and the like, and we practice combats drills to honor our ancestors. But the days when being a dragonrider meant risking your life in the constant battle of Thread is long gone.”

He paused to drink from a heavy clay mug on his desk before continuing. “Male dragons come in three colors: bronze, brown, and blue. The bronzes are the largest, and their riders tend to be the Weyrleaders and Wingleaders. The Weyrleader is the male half of the Weyr leadership. He works with the Weyrwoman to manage the Weyr. The Wingleaders each run a wing of dragons. Your wing are your flightmates, the ones you would have gone into battle with in ancient times. These days, your wing are those you share assignments with - be it patrol duty, message duty, emergency services. We of the Weyr serve Pern in any way we can.” His eyes snapped with pride.

“The browns are typically smaller than bronzes, but similarly intelligent. Many brown riders are Wingseconds and Weyrlingmasters. Blues are midway between browns and greens in size, and have excellent stamina for prolonged flight.”

“When the ancients first came to Pern, their scientists genetically engineered dragons from fire-lizards.” He paused while those who weren’t aware of this fact raised their voices in disbelief. “I assure you, it’s true. It took many generations to breed dragons to their present stature. They were also given an enhancement to their intelligence, which by extension increased their latent telepathic abilities, enabling them to bond with us in Impression and communicate with us via that link. In ancient days, the dragons were programmed to pair up with riders of their same gender. However, that’s mostly been bred out. The only exceptions are the queens and bronzes; there have been no recorded instances of a male gold rider or a female bronze rider.” Cor shrugged. “That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s impossible, but it’s highly improbable.”

“Firestone is exactly what it sounds like - the dragons chew it and are able to utilize it to produce flame. In ancient Passes, this was used to burn Thread in the sky before it could land on the ground and do damage.” Cor paused and glanced around at his enrapt students. “I assume you all know of Thread?”

The candidates nodded solemnly. Gladio noticed that even the excitable blonde youth who’d spent most the lecture jiggling one leg had gone still now.

“We dragonriders owe much to the sacrifices and hard work of the riders, craftspeople, and holders of the Ninth Pass. They were able to eradicate Thread completely with the help of the AIVAS system found at Landing.”

“But we are not without purpose. We have watchriders stationed at every Hold and Hall on Pern. We help in emergency situations - evacuations, rescue efforts. We provide transportation and carry messages - don’t make that face, Noctis,” Cor said wryly. “It might not be glamorous, but the average citizen is grateful for our work.”

“Above all, we are the protectors of Pern. We stand ready to face any new threat that might endanger our planet and its people.”

“Does anyone have any questions?”

The young blonde Gladio had noticed shot his hand in the air with a wave. When Cor called on him, he stood. “Sir, how do you know when the eggs will hatch?”

“The dragons always know,” Cor said. “When they know, you’ll know.”

The young woman who seated herself apart rose and curtsied. “Is there any way to know which color you might Impress?”

“Not with certainty,” Cor said. “In olden days, it would have been easier for you, at least - women were only allowed to stand for golds. But these days, you’d be just as likely to Impress a brown or blue.”

“So women aren’t expected to just have babies and tend the hearth?”

Gladio turned to look at the new speaker. She seemed closer to his age, older than many of their peers. Certainly a beauty with that silvery hair and striking green eyes, but Gladio wasn’t sure he’d want to risk flirting with her. She looked pretty fierce. It’d be funny to watch Noct try, though.

“Indeed not,” Cor said. “Our lower caverns are run by a man named Takka, and his staff is comprised of any who wish to find work there, regardless of their gender. While queenriders traditionally oversee the domestic side of Weyr life, all riders are expected to pitch in wherever and however needed. We all work together for the good of the Weyr, and by extension, the good of Pern.”

“Have you a Weyrsinger?” the harper stood and asked, drawing Gladio’s attention. How they got two people with such striking green eyes in one candidate class was beyond Gladio, but he wasn’t gonna complain.

“We do not,” Cor said. “Our last Weyrsinger died several Turns back, and we haven’t had any harpers Impress in that time.”

The young man nodded and sat down. “Thank you, sir.”

Cor waited a moment, and when no other questions were forthcoming, he clapped his hands. “Alright, we’ll meet again after lunch. Until then, here are your assignments. Noctis and Prompto, you’ll be restocking coal for the kitchens. Ignis and Aranea, you’ll be…”

* * *

“So how’d a fancy harper like you end up shoveling whershit in Insomnia?” The woman Ignis was paired up with - Aranea, he recalled Cor naming her - had a hard edge to her tone that made Ignis wary, but it didn’t seem directed towards him. He spared a moment to wonder what her life had been like to cause a relatively young woman to be so jaded and brittle.

“I’m not certain I count as ‘fancy’,” Ignis said demurely. “I’ve only attained journeyman rank. As to how I came to be here, I imagine much as you did. I was found on Search.” He paused, considering how honest to be. Should he tell her that the great bronze dragon had spoken to him directly, words appearing in his mind alongside Ignis’s own thoughts? Was that a good thing, or something to incite jealousy in his peers? Ignis decided discretion was the better part of valor, and shifted the conversation away from him. “And you? Where do you hale from?”

“Everywhere. Nowhere,” she laughed. “I was a mercenary guard.” She smirked at Ignis’s surprised expression. “I know, a delicate lady like myself?” Her voice was dry, and Ignis found himself warming up to this unusual woman.

“I’m sure you were quite good at it,” Ignis said diplomatically.

“You’re damn right,” Aranea said. “And if I don’t Impress, I’ll be back to my old company in a heartbeat. But I couldn’t pass up the chance to be a dragonrider.” She grimaced. “I just hope I don’t partner with a gold. I have _no_ desire to be a Weyrwoman.” Her expression shifted into a fierce grin, green eyes sparkling. Ignis could admire her beauty despite not being attracted to women; she was truly striking. “Give me a fighting beast - maybe I’ll be the first woman bronze rider on Pern!”

“If anyone could do it,” Ignis said wryly, “I imagine it would be you.”

Aranea laughed. “I like you. What’s your name again?”

“Ignis.” He jammed his shovel in the manure and offered her a formal bow.

“Fuck that formality,” she said, reaching to tug him upright. “I’m Aranea.” She hefted her shovel and continued at their task, mucking out the watchwher kennels. “Let’s get this shit cleaned up, I want a bath.”

“Indeed,” Ignis agreed, putting his back into it. Perhaps another hour and they’d be free of their work detail, giving them time to clean up before the midday meal. Perhaps if there was time this afternoon, he could meet more of their candidate class. It would pay to have allies here in the Weyr even if Ignis didn’t Impress.

* * *

Gladio groaned, rolling his shoulders. Cor had assigned him to filling firestone sacks, a task he was most familiar with and got given entirely too often. Gladio understood it; he was a big guy and tossing the loaded sacks was easier for him than the scrawnier youths. But by the first egg, he was ready for a bath.

After stopping in his quarters to grab clean clothes, a towel, and a pouch full of soapsand, he made his way down to the stream flowing outside the Weyr and grinned. No one else had found his spot. Shucking off his sweaty clothes, Gladio jumped into the river, grunting at the coolness of the water. It was refreshing as fuck, and he was tempted to linger - but missing the midday meal would be a bad idea when Faranth only knew what Cor would assign him for his evening work detail.

Gladio grabbed the soapsand and washed quickly, scrubbing away all the grime from his earlier chore. A glance at the sky showed him he had maybe another quarter-hour before the food would be served, so he settled himself against one riverbank and closed his eyes, enjoying the combination of the water cooling his aching muscles even as the sun warmed his tanned face.

A delicate cough interrupted his reverie. Cracking one amber eye, he saw the harper candidate standing on the opposite bank, holding a bundle of clothing and…fuck, Gladio could smell the stink of manure from here.

“Yeah?” Gladio asked.

“Never mind,” the man said quickly, his clipped accent intriguing Gladio. Where’d he come from? “I’ll go downstream so as not to pollute your bath.” His face twisted in displeasure as one hand picked at his stained tunic.

“I’m about done,” Gladio said. “This is the best spot. There’s an underwater ledge here that’s the perfect height for sitting and soaking.” He stood up, uncaring about his nudity. He did, however, take note of the way the harper’s brilliant green eyes followed the trails of water streaming down Gladio’s body.

Climbing out the water, Gladio toweled off and dressed quickly. “Name’s Gladio,” he offered. “Lived here my whole life. Ask me if you need anything and I’ll help you out.”

“Thank you,” the harper said, still standing motionless. He’d better get a move on if he wanted time to bathe and eat. “Ignis, journeyman harper.”

“Well met,” Gladio said. “Don’t take too long or you’ll miss lunch.” With a smile and a wave, Gladio turned and made his way back towards the Weyr. He couldn’t resist one backward glance though - perfectly timed to see Ignis’s pale body slide into the river.

Gladio’s heart pounded and he walked faster. He hoped Ignis took him up on his offer. Gladio had a feeling they’d get along well, and he knew the Weyr could be overwhelming to newcomers, even someone as obviously cultured as the journeyman harper would be with his rank and craft. Adjusting to Weyr life could be… difficult… for outsiders.

Grinning to himself, Gladio decided he’d help Ignis with his transition any way he could.

For now, food was the priority. He had a feeling he’d need the fuel to get through whatever Cor had planned for their class’s afternoon.

* * *

Prompto raced into the lower caverns, his hair still dripping. He probably shouldn’t’ve taken that nap, but when Noctis had suggested it, it seemed like such a good idea! Thankfully he’d managed to grab a quick scrub and was now ready to eat.

“Prompto!”

He looked up and saw Noctis waving to him. With a grin, he went and sat beside his new friend. They’d bonded quickly over their shared chore, Noctis telling him stories of Weyr life, Prompto… well, didn’t really have any stories to tell, but he enjoyed asking questions and the easy camaraderie they developed.

Prompto was still a little amazed at how much the Weyr gave him, asking nothing in return but a little help with chores in between training classes. His first night, he’d been hesitant at dinner, taking only a few small pieces of meat and some steamed greens. But today he followed Noctis’s example, loading his plate with thick slices of grilled herdbeast, roasted tubers, and a pile of the vegetables his new friend distinctly avoided.

“How can you eat those things?” Noctis asked, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“Are you kidding?” Prompto’s words were mangled a bit by the food in his mouth, and he blushed at his lapse in manners. He swallowed it and took a drink of water before continuing to speak. “I never got fresh stuff like this back home. This is great!”

Noctis frowned. “Why not? I mean, if you actually _wanted_ it.” His latter statement was wrapped in clear disbelief, even as he watched Prompto shovel in the veggies faster than a dragon blinked _between_.

“Eh… long story. So, what should I expect this afternoon?” Prompto deflected, not wanting to talk about his unhappy upbringing and bring down the happy mood he’d had all day.

“Another lecture from Cor,” Noctis sighed. “Then another work detail before the evening meal. After dinner, we’re free until the morning class, though I recommend getting to sleep early.”

“Good plan,” Prompto agreed. “Think the eggs’ll hatch soon?”

Noctis shrugged. “They’ll hatch when they hatch,” he said pragmatically. “Can’t really predict it. You ever seen eggs up close?”

“I’ve never been to a Weyr before, Noctis,” Prompto reminded him.

His new friend’s twilight gaze shone with mischief. “Then I know what we’re doing after dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I felt I already did a large enough lore dump, I wanted to include the following link:
> 
> DRAGON LORE FROM WIKI: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dragons_(Pern)
> 
> * to note: McCaffrey’s view on homosexuality - particularly how she describes male green riders - are _not_ my views and will _not_ be adhered to in this fic. Similarly, I don’t follow her rule that only lesbian women can Impress colors other than gold and green. I felt the need to add this disclaimer because I didn’t want folks reading the wiki to think that I would be following those limitations or that I shared those views. Thanks for understanding. Let me know if you have any questions or concerns on this - or anything else - as the story progresses.
> 
> As always, my sincerest thanks for reading, kudos-ing, and commenting. You guys are why I keep doing this. <3


	4. Impression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks, as always, to my beta-san [aliatori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori) <3

Pulled from his dreams, Nyx sat up in his bed and rubbed a hand over his tired face as he tried to figure out what had woken him up.

 _It’s time,_ his dragon’s voice filled his head, tinged with excitement and impatience.

“This couldn’t have waited until morning?” Nyx grumbled irritably. He rose and dressed quickly, walking out onto the ledge where his weyr overlooked the Weyr bowl. Ulrith already waited there, lowering himself so Nyx could spring to his back. Once mounted, he realized he’d forgotten his safety straps. “My life is in your hands, old friend,” he said confidentially. It was only a short glide down to ground level, and by the time they landed Nyx could make out the low hum permeating the night, the sound of hundreds of dragons in readiness for the Hatching.

Somehow the dragons always knew. None could explain it, but they’d begin their song about an hour before the first shell cracked. It gave everyone time to assemble, and also served as a nice welcoming ballad for the dragonets. On Hatching day, the dragons were harpers. The thought made Nyx laugh even as his bronze emitted the strange barking cough that was draconic laughter.

Nyx walked into the Hatching Grounds while Ulrith flew up to land on the rim, settling down between two other dragons. Someone had brought in torches, which was great for visibility. To Nyx’s tired mind, the heat of the sands burning beneath his feet combined with the cheerful firelight made him wonder if his feet were actually on fire, but a glance down proved they were not. He climbed up in the stands and sat by the Weyrleader’s second, Clarus. The somber man looked odd not being glued to the Weyrleader’s side, but Regis stood down with Aulea beside her very agitated queen.

The candidates began to file in, their ritualistic white robes shaded copper by the torchlight. Nyx saw the young man he’d brought in from the Harper Hall and considered laying a few wagers, but decided that would be unfair. He was positive the lad - well, okay, he was no _boy_ , but was a mewling babe compared to a seasoned rider - would Impress, so it would be cruel of him to take others’ coin.

Casting a sidelong glance at Clarus, Nyx asked, “Your son’s standing today?”

Clarus nodded gravely, his lips pressed in a thin line. The older man’s hands were curled into fists and his knuckles were white; clearly he was nervous about the outcome of today’s - shards, tonight’s - Hatching.

“This will be his last time on the sands,” Clarus said gruffly.

“Good luck,” Nyx said, truly having no idea what words were appropriate in this situation.

Looking back to the candidates, he found himself drawn to the cluster of young women gathered around the gleaming queen egg. He didn’t recognize any of them; they were all from Search, none were Weyr born. But one… by Faranth, who was she? All pale hair and milky skin, tinged as gold as the dragon she hoped to Impress by the dim light of the flames. She carried herself with such a regal bearing Nyx was positive she had high rank, but her motions had an air of self-doubt that he found intriguing.

Nyx wondered if the baby gold dragon would like her as much as he did.

* * *

Prompto shifted his weight from foot to foot. Staying still was not happening, so why bother trying? The Hatching was here, and Prompto desperately hoped one of the young dragons would deem him an acceptable match.

They’d been awoken by Cor thundering into the candidate barracks a quarter hour ago, waking them and telling them to dress fast. Prompto hardly had time to get his bearings as he stripped off his night clothes and pulled on the billowy white robe all the candidates wore. It seemed he’d barely gotten off his pallet and he was already standing here, surrounded by eggs that were beginning to rock. Taking a deep breath, Prompto focused on making his thoughts welcome. Dragons could hear thoughts, right? So he should keep his happy and not anxious, to better encourage one to come his way.

A loud cracking sound ripped through the buzz of conversation, and Prompto heard the strange hum of the dragons crescendo. He turned to find the source of the sound and watched as one egg split clearly in two. A tiny bronze head poked out and began to weave from side to side, seeking.

“A bronze!” someone cried from the stands. “That’s a good omen!”

“Who laid odds on a bronze first?” another voice demanded. But Prompto didn’t bother trying to hear the answer, violet eyes skimming the eggs, seeing three more crack and split. There were easily three times as many candidates as eggs; the dragonets had to have sufficient choice. Tales were told of horrible times when dragonets refused every candidate, every person in the stands, and died right there, unpartnered. The Weyr always tried to assemble a large and diverse group so that such things didn’t occur often.

Prompto watched as a tiny green dragon found her partner, smiling at the sheer look of joy on the candidate’s face. No, a candidate no longer, on the weyrling’s face. He was so distracted by the wondrous sight that he didn’t notice the dragonet making a beeline in his direction until its small triangular head butted against his thighs.

 _So hungry,_ Prompto heard in his head but… it wasn’t his own thought, though it sounded like an echo of his voice.

He looked down with a gasp, seeing a small blue dragon reared up on its hind legs. As Prompto watched, he butted his head against Prompto’s legs again, emitting a piteous creel. _Hungry. So hungry._

Right, Cor had told them about this. “Come on, little buddy,” he said, reaching to steady the hatchling as they walked across the sands. “Let’s find you some food.”

His heart was fair to bursting with bliss. He had been found worthy. He, Prompto, the unwanted, unloved orphan who lived on the charity of his holdmates, was a dragonrider!

* * *

Aranea cast a scornful glance where the other young women stood ringed around the gold egg. She’d been encouraged to join them, but Aranea had absolutely zero desire to Impress the queen.

She would ride a fighting dragon, or none at all.

Taking up a position by a cluster of smaller eggs that Aranea hoped contained greens, she waited impatiently for them to hatch, noticing as newly bonded pairs began walking off the sands. She saw when the excitable young blonde man Impressed and smiled. “Way to go, shortcake.”

Two of the three eggs she loomed over began to rock, and Aranea knelt down to get a better vantage point. Surprisingly, it was the third that cracked first, and she was disappointed when a bronze head was revealed. Despite her boasts to the contrary, she didn’t truly expect to be the one to break tradition - at least not on that score.

The other two eggs followed suit, and her heart plummeted. A blue and a brown; not unheard of for either color to Impress on a woman rider, but Aranea had been hoping for a green. She knew greens sometimes got a bad rap, but from what she’d gleaned it was entirely undeserved. They were the most agile dragons on Pern, and she thought their quicksilver flight patterns would fit her personality well.

She watched as the bronze and blue dragonets scurried off, but then that baby brown lifted its scintillating eyes to meet hers and crooned inquisitively; in that moment, Impression was made.

“Oh, you’re lovely,” Aranea said in awe as she knelt to help steady the hatchling. “Come on, Miyuth; let’s find you some breakfast.” They walked off, Aranea holding her head high - at least when she wasn’t helping balance the clumsy dragonet at her side. She noted the reactions of the other riders and attendees. Mostly positive, though some older men were frowning fair to send her _between_. She snorted when one man deliberately turned his back on her. _Who the hell is he to judge a dragon’s choice?_

 _Does he have my food?_ Miyuth asked hopefully.

“No. Sorry. This way.”

She found Cor at the edge of the sands, watching as his students found their draconic other halves. “Well done,” he greeted her curtly. “Tend to him. Then get some sleep.” His thin lips quirked in an amused smile. “Just like with human babies, you’ll want to follow the old saying - sleep when the baby sleeps. These next weeks you’ll feel you’re doing little else but feed him and sleep, but they grow fast. Savor it.”

“Right,” she said, fighting back a grin at how easily he fell into lecture mode. “Thanks.”

Joining the other new riders and dragonets, she helped Miyuth choose the choicest morsels.

* * *

While it wasn’t his first Impression - and wouldn’t by regulations be his last - Noctis felt familiar nerves churning in his belly. It wasn’t so much that he was worried about not Impressing. He was just tired of listening to all the speculation. You’d think that dragonriders of all people would be more cognizant of the fact that just because he was the son of the Weyrwoman and Weyrleader didn’t mean he’d Impress, let alone a bronze. To be honest, Noctis had little desire to ride a bronze. As he’d cavalierly tossed off to Gladio the other week, who wanted that responsibility? Not him. No, a blue would suit him fine. Plus it’d be great to see the look on the old guard’s face when their hopes and dreams for starting a line of blood succession like the Holds totally failed.

The eggs were starting to hatch though, so he should pay attention. Noct saw the familiar sunny shock of messy hair he already associated with his newest friend, and cheered when Prompto bonded with a blue hatchling. Now if only Noctis could do the same…

Oh! There was an egg cracking along his line of sight, and Noctis thought the wingtip that poked through the membrane was the color of the mid-day skies. Without watching where he was going, he sprinted towards the egg, wishing there was a way he could just blink and - _zap!_ \- be there in a flash. But no one could go _between_ without the aid of a dragon.

Yes, it was a blue; the head and shoulders were out of the egg now. Shoving another young man out of his way, Noctis mustered up a fresh burst of speed, eyes honed in on his target. Come on… come on…

When he tripped and fell, it was spectacular. Not only for the blood welling up from the scrapes on his bare calves and palms, but for the fact he literally tripped over an egg. While Noctis sat there getting his bearings, having had the wind quite thoroughly knocked out of him from the tumble, the egg in question cracked cleanly in two pieces which fell away to reveal a glistening bronze dragonet.

 _Not bronze_ Noct thought weakly, but then those rainbow eyes were latched on his and a lifelong bond was formed.

 _Why not?_ the query sounded directly in Noctis’s mind, timbre equal parts affronted and amused.

 _I don’t remember,_ Noctis said, reaching out to scratch the hatchling’s eye ridges affectionately. _You’re_ exactly _the dragon I was always meant to have. Thank you for choosing me_.

 _Who else would I choose?_ Lucith’s mental voice was warmed with humor. _I love you. You’re my person._ The baby bronze dragon got to its feet on wobbly legs, looking up at Noctis with luminous eyes. _Food? So hungry._

“Right,” Noct said allowed, rising alongside the dragonet. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Nothing from his years of study in song or story had prepared Ignis for the spectacle which was the Hatching Grounds, filled to bursting to celebrate this auspicious event. He made mental notes about the crowds, the way the candidates shuffled with nerves and excitement; Ignis paid special attention to the way the golden queen, Reginth, snaked her head out over the eggs closest to her position, hissing at any who dared approach too closely. Weyrwoman Aulea handled her weyrmate well, soothing the dragon and keeping by her side. The Weyrleader was there too, though Ignis noted he hung back a bit. This was clearly a moment for Insomnia Weyr’s more preeminent pair to savor, and one the rest of those assembled - from Weyrleader to kitchen drudge - should feel grateful to enjoy.

Eggs began to crack all around him, and Ignis’s heart pounded with excitement. The moment had come. He could surpass all expectations he’d had for his life, becoming not only harper but dragonrider. How many others could lay claim to such prominence? Ignis had never been one to push his way ahead of others, always studying at his own pace and helping his classmates with their work, but perhaps today boldness was recommended.

He strode closer to a cluster of eggs, eyeing the other men and women standing nearby. Across the sands he spied the massive, Weyr-bred man from their class and he offered him a nod. Ignis saw those amber eyes were tight, Gladio’s brow wrinkled. Well, if Ignis had understood the rumors circulating the Weyr properly - and he always did, he _was_ a harper, after all - this would be Gladio’s last chance to stand for a clutch of eggs. Surely that warranted some level of anxiety.

Ignis shook his head to bring his thoughts back where they needed to be. Weyrlingmaster Cor had encouraged they keep their minds open and clear of human concerns. Think welcoming, happy thoughts; think about how much you’d love your dragon, how well you’d care for it.

He saw Aranea bond with a brown and couldn’t help but cheer. He and the vivacious woman had struck up an unlikely friendship, and he hoped to see that relationship continue. Ignis didn’t recognize the others who were Impressing - their class was too large, and he was here too few days before Hatching to truly meet them all - but he saw greens, blues, browns, and bronzes all forging happy partnerships with awe-struck new riders.

In a spot apart, the gold egg began to rock, but showed no sign of cracking yet. Ignis hadn’t met any of the potential queen riders personally yet, though he knew a Weyr favorite was a young woman born and bred right here, Rinoa, daughter of a past queenrider now deceased.

Egg after egg broke, and Ignis began to despair of finding his match. He tried to console himself with thoughts of other Hatchings - he had a year until he’d be aged out - but it was little solace as he watched pair after pair walk triumphantly off the sands.

And then it happened, and he realized that no matter how skilled he might be at his craft - former craft - there was no way Ignis could ever accurately capture this wondrous moment in song.

Ignis was changed forever the moment that draconic mind cleaved unto his.

“Aren’t you a clever one?” Ignis murmured tenderly, kneeling down to meet the dragonet’s whirling eyes on his level. The tiny brown was _perfect_ , its hide even and unblemished. Its color was lighter and more radiant than most the brown dragons he’d seen in the Weyr, but Ignis was uncertain if that was due to his unabashed love for this small creature, or perhaps something that changed as dragons grew to maturity.

Ah, well. He’d have plenty of time to find out. For now, he’d tend to the imperious creature butting his head against Ignis’s outstretched hand and get the poor darling some food.

* * *

_Breathe. Just breathe._ Lunafreya’s heart was in her throat; her stomach roiled with apprehension. What if she failed? Perhaps she shouldn’t have focused on the unborn queen. What if they made her go back to Tenebrae? What if, what if, what if.

 _Enough of that_ , a clear voice filtered over her thoughts. Incredulously, Luna lowered her gaze to meet the glittering gemstone eyes of the newest queen dragon of Insomnia Weyr. With a relieved and joyous cry, she fell to her knees and embraced the brilliant beauty, unashamed of the tears on her face.

“Oh, you’re wonderful!” Luna exclaimed. “You’re so wonderful.”

 _As are you_ , the little gold said sedately. Luna recognized the echo of her own voice, and spared a moment to wonder if ever in all her years she’d sounded as self-assured as this newborn dragonet. _I’m terribly hungry._

“Of course!” Lunafreya bounded to her feet, reaching a steadying hand with the youngling began the awkward, ambling walk which was dragonkind’s graceless way of moving over land when they couldn’t soar the skies or go _between_.

When at last they’d made it to the weyrling barracks and Fleurenth was happily gorging herself on raw meat scraps, Garnet approached her.

“Well done!” Garnet congratulated her. “I knew you’d Impress from the moment I heard about you from your holders.” She winked. “Even with your brother keeping you all but prisoner in that tower, your people knew of you and loved you. And we of the Weyr shall do the same.”

Lunafreya was weeping again, but she had learned this past week that showing her emotion was a strength, not a weakness.

Garnet slung an arm around the younger woman, and they stood there watching the hatchlings eat their first meal in companionable silence.

* * *

Despite having vowed not to be nervous, and feeling comfortable with the very likely outcome that he’d leave the Hatching Grounds dragonless, Gladio was nervous as fuck. He’d thought he’d come to terms with the idea of not being a dragonrider, but apparently not. Knowing his father and sister were up in the stands watching wasn’t helping. Clarus was always kind, but Gladio knew he was disappointed each time his son walked off the sands without a draconic partner.

And shards, despite this being easily his dozenth time, Gladio still wasn’t used to wearing this billowy robe; it was too short on his massive frame, and while there was no taboo around nudity in the Weyr, he always felt a bit ridiculous in it.

Well, bright side. He’d never have to wear it again.

Never be allowed to wear it again.

As Gladio forced himself to stand steady rather than fidgeting like much the other candidates, he watched the Impressions happening all around him. The excitable blonde kid paired with a blue. Huh, he must have more substance than Gladio suspected. Noct… oh, shit, Noctis landed himself a bronze! Gladio laughed so hard he felt tears in his eyes; his best friend would probably have gotten over his ‘no bronzes’ line of thinking the instant Impression was made, but that didn’t mean Gladio wouldn’t tease him for it later. The harper found a dragon, too, impressing a brown shortly after the outspoken woman from… Gladio forgot from where but it didn’t matter; she was of the Weyr now.

When the queen egg cracked everyone went still and silent. Even the newly hatched dragonets softened their demanding cries. Gladio thought it was funny that the woman the baby gold chose hadn’t even seemed to be paying attention. But despite the new queenrider’s apparent tendency to daydream, something about her was worthy of a gold dragon, and that was good enough for Gladio.

The dragons always knew.

There weren’t many eggs left now. Gladio wiped his sweaty palms on his thighs and scowled. Yeah, yeah, happy thoughts, he knew the drill, but really he just wanted this over with so he could go to his quarters and figure out his next move. Irritably, he began to pace.

 _Watch it!_ a voice shrieked in his head, and Gladio backstepped with a muttered oath. 

Shit, he’d nearly crushed a hatchling. Gladio stepped farther back so the small dragonet could go find its partner and resumed his survey of the Hatching Grounds. Only two more eggs left, he’d best head to that side of the sands if he had any hope at Impressing.

 _Why are you leaving me?_ a piteous voice beseeched him, and it occurred to Gladio just why he was hearing a voice is his head. He turned slowly, dropping his eyes until they met the scintillating, faceted eyes of the most beautiful, perfect baby green dragon he’d seen in his entire life.

“I’m sorry,” he said with feeling, hunkering down on one knee to regard the hatchling eye-to-eye.

 _Good._ That echoing voice sounded very pleased with itself, and unless Gladio was completely nuts, sounded like what he could imagine he would sound like if he had an alto rather than bass timbre. In fact, it wasn’t unlike his youthful voice before maturity deepened its pitch, save that despite the green being moments out of her shell, she sounded just as intelligent, canny, and self-assured as Gladio’s father.

As the two left the sands and made their way to the carved meat piled up outside the weyrling barracks, Gladio was aware of a trail of gossip in his wake. He paid it no mind; tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with whoever felt the urge to needle him over Impressing green rather than bronze. A foolish attitude, really, and a quite outdated one. Everyone knew you could never have enough greens in the Weyr. And besides, being found worthy of _any_ dragon’s partnership was something to be proud of.

And Gladio couldn’t imagine ever being more proud of anything than his newly formed bond with young Amicitath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think. Your kudos & comments encourage me to keep going and generally brighten my day. <3 <3


	5. Connections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My never-ending thanks to [aliatori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori) for being a beta-san, sounding board, and most importantly - a dear friend. <3

Lunafreya walked onto her weyr’s ledge and stretched, a beatific smile wreathing her delicate features. Life in the Weyr had been ... an adjustment. Unlike her peers, Lunafreya had been given a junior queen’s weyr immediately upon Impression. Part of her wished she was in the weyrling barracks with the others, forging friendships and building camaraderie. But she knew that would likely be overwhelming, given her relative seclusion back in Tenebrae.

Besides, as a weyrwoman, she had responsibilities and duties to learn about that were far different from what the others studied. Her teachers were the Weyrwoman Aulea and the other junior queenriders, Garnet and Celes. Lunafreya had formed a nascent friendship with Garnet, and as such Aulea had bequeathed most of the teaching unto her. Fleurenth was only a year old, and gold dragons weren’t ready to mate until they were at least two years, usually closer to three, so Lunafreya had ample time to learn the ins and outs of being a queenrider without considering such distractions.

Well, not considering them too much. Her cheeks colored as she stared down into the weyr bowl, watching folks hustle to and fro on their morning tasks. She should scarcely leave her weyr without being surrounded by bronzer riders courting her affections, but Lunafreya wasn’t interested in any of them. She just wanted to make some friends. Garnet encouraged it, but offered little advice on how to do so when her duties ate up so much of her time, and the other dragonriders viewed her with a respect bordering on reverence.

 _I’m hungry,_ the welcome voice of her dragon interrupted Lunafreya’s thoughts.

Her smile took on a tender cast as Lunafreya turned and walked back into her weyr, going to the hollow where Fleurenth slept and greeting her with a scratch along her left eye ridge. “Good morning, my heart.”

_Food? Please?_

Lunafreya laughed. “You’re a bottomless pit. I swear there’s more of you to oil every day.”

Weyrlingmaster Cor had been quite firm in his directions to the new riders, before Lunafreya had been spirited out of the weyrling class to study with the other goldriders. The first year in particular, the dragons would spend most their days eating and sleeping. After six months, they would start flying, though they could not carry their riders until after at least a year’s growth. When they weren’t eating and sleeping, they’d be bathing and then oilied by their riders. Patchy hide would crack _between_ ; with how fast the dragonets grew, it was important to keep their hides moisturized and supple.

Perhaps today they could go to the lake. Lunafreya might even encounter some of her peers there. While she understood the need for instruction by the senior queenriders, she chafed at having found herself in a form of isolation again. Not as stifling as that Ravus had kept her under at Tenebrae, no, but Lunafreya had expected more opportunities to make friends. She valued her relationship with Garnet - and naturally was head over heels with Fleurenth - but she needed more.

 _A swim sounds nice,_ Fleurenth said into her mind agreeably. _After breakfast._

Lunafreya dressed in simple weyrhide riding clothes and grabbed a pot of oil. “Let’s go then, lazy queen,” she said affectionately. She watched Fleurenth move in the ungainly ground-waddle the dragons all affected. For creatures that were so graceful in the air and water, they looked truly ridiculous on land.

Lunafreya stopped by the lower cavern long enough to get some bread and klah, then took Fleurenth to the feeding grounds. She watched her dragon strike at a herdbeast, disemboweling it sloppily.

“Good morning, weyrwoman.”

Lunafreya turned to see who was addressing her. Furrowing her brow, she brought the name to mind. “Broze rider Nyx. Good morning.” While Nyx had never treated her in the same way as the other experienced bronze riders, Lunafreya hadn’t really spoken with him very much before. Maybe this would be a good opportunity to do as Garnet had suggested, start to make connections and learn more about the riders she might one day govern.

“She’s growing well,” Nyx said approvingly, gesturing with his chin towards where Fleurenth was eating.

“Yes,” Lunafreya was unable to keep the fondness from her voice. “I swear there’s more of her to oil every day - every _hour_ \- but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

“Know what you mean,” Nyx said with a grin. “But it should slow down now that she’s a yearling.” Eyeing her with open curiosity, he continued, “We don’t see you out and about much.”

“My studies take up most of my time, when I’m not caring for her,” Lunafreya explained.

“Of course,” Nyx nodded. “But try and take some time to relax. Even queens deserve days off.” He winked.

She considered. “We’re going to swim at the lake after breakfast.”

“Is that an invitation?”

Lunafreya blinked. Was he flirting with her? Squaring her shoulders, she responded as regally as possible, “Yes.”

“Mind if I bring some friends?” Nyx leaned on the feeding ground fence, watching the dragons. Lunafreya appreciated the break from being pinned by that cerulean stare.

“The more the merrier.” She was pleased at how steady her tone stayed, not a single quaver despite the growing nerves roiling in her belly. This was a good thing. Garnet would be pleased, and Lunafreya would maybe make a couple more friends.

“Great. See you there!” Nyx strolled off with a wave.

As Lunafreya watched her dragon finish her breakfast, she wondered just what she’d gotten herself into.

* * *

When Nyx had suggested a swim, Crowe knew there was more to it than just wanting to enjoy the day. But their wing didn’t have patrol until the evening, so she saw no reason to demur. Gathering up the others, they made their way down to the shore, dragons flying overhead and casting large shadows down upon the grassy plain between Weyr and water.

Crowe relished the feel of Nyx’s palm pressed to hers, callused from years of holding riding straps and pitching in on the hard labor required to keep a Weyr running. They’d both had their dalliances over the years - dictated by their own desires, or those of their dragons - but continued to cohabitate despite life not going the way they’d once imagined as children. Both Impressing male dragons had denied them the sublime joy of sharing a mating flight, and Crowe had never conceived the child they both longed for. They had talked about adopting one of the orphaned weyr children, but time just seemed to always get in the way. Nyx led their wing and Crowe was his Wingsecond. The paperwork alone took hours, let alone the flight drills, work shifts, and other tasks.

A morning at the lake sounded like a welcome respite. Glancing around at the others, Crowe smiled. Pelna, Libertus, and Kamura all seemed in good spirits, too. She noticed the way Pelna and Kamura kept eyeing each other when they thought no one was watching and grinned. That was a pairing she could approve of, and with Kamura’s Grometh likely to rise again soon, it was good for Pelna to make his feelings known now. Not that they necessarily mattered when the flight was in motion, but it couldn’t hurt.

As they approached the lake, Crowe saw they weren’t the only ones there. The newest gold dragon was swimming; her rider - Lunafreya, if Crowe’s memory served, and it generally did - was sitting on the shore, watching her dragon with a dreamy smile.

“Lunafreya!” Nyx called out in greeting. Ah ha - _that’s_ why he was so eager for this outing. Everyone was curious about the young queen rider who had remained such a mystery over her year in the Weyr.

It never hurt to be on good terms with the queenriders - sure, Reginth was in fine health now, as was Aulea, but who knew when the position of Weyrwoman would go vacant? Granted, Lunafreya wasn’t a likely choice of successor, being the lowest ranked werywoman, but it was still a good idea to get on her good side.

Lunafreya rose, and Crowe had to admire the careful grace of the younger woman’s movements. The gold rider bowed to them all; when she straightened, she was smiling, though it did not reach those sylleblossom eyes. “Good day.”

Her wing-mates all greeted the queenrider cheerfully before diving into the lake, but Crowe opted to stay ashore and get to know the girl. She sent Altiuth off with a fond thought, and sat on the grass at the lakeside.

Lunafreya joined her, and they sat quietly, watching the dragons and riders cavort and play. Nyx climbed up his dragon’s back and dived off, tackling Libertus beneath the waves, and Crowe laughed long and hard. The young gold rider joined in her mirth, and after it faded away, Crowe decided enough was enough.

“How do you like Weyr life?” Crowe asked.

“It’s… different.” Lunafreya’s answer was studiously diplomatic. That wouldn’t do.

“Can’t leave your weyr without being beset upon by bronze riders?” Facing Lunafreya with a knowing smile, Crowe did her best to look friendly and unintimidating.

“Ah… well, I mean…”

Crowe chuckled. “You don’t have to mince words with me, Lunafreya. I might not ride a gold, that that hasn’t stopped some of them from bothering me over the years.”

“But… you and Nyx.” Huh. Give the lady points for observation.

“Nyx doesn’t own me,” Crowe waved a hand. “But those overbearing bronzes don’t interest me.” She looked at Lunafreya appraisingly. “I can see why they’d like you. You’re gorgeous.”

The blush that filled Lunafreya’s cheeks was utterly charming. “Thank you.”

“So, here’s what you do,” Crowe continued briskly. “Walk tall. Keep your head held high. Stop hiding in the queen’s wing. Get to know your Weyr; make allies, make friends.” Her words were gentle. “If you let people get to know you, they’ll see you as more than just a potential path to Weyrleadership.”

Lunafreya didn’t speak, so Crowe waited patiently, watching her. She saw the way the junior queen rider’s eyes continually went back to Nyx. Perhaps Crowe should feel jealous, but she’d spent too many years with Nyx to worry. He was certainly a good example of a bronze rider that would treat Lunafreya as a person rather than only a queen rider. All of their wing was.

When after long minutes Lunafreya still hadn’t spoken, Crowe stood to break the tension, offering Lunafreya a hand. “Let’s go show them how it’s done.” After tugging Lunafreya to her feet, Crowe stripped down and dove into the refreshing water, swimming out towards her dragon and her friends. She smiled to herself hearing the spash of Lunafreya following suit. Good, the girl needed to unwind and have some fun.

This day was certainly off to an interesting start.

* * *

After Noctis set down the sack of firestone, he wiped the sweat off his brow with his forearm. In many ways, the past four months had been indistinguishable from his typical life the past few years: up with the sun, work detail twice a day, fending off admirers who wanted to get to know him purely because of his parentage.

But in other remarkable ways, they had been entirely different.

Lucith made everything brighter. His youthful wonder at simple things like butterflies on the breeze or sunbeams sparkling on the water caused Noctis to slow down and remember to appreciate so many things he’d taken for granted.

Aside from his new draconic partner, he’d also made a new friend. Prompto had bonded quickly with both Noctis and Gladio, their duo becoming a threesome. The only other weyrlings around their ages were junior weyrwoman Lunafreya, and the new brown riders, Aranea and Ignis. The two of them seemed content to hold themselves apart from the group. Noctis rolled his eyes. He might have Impressed bronze, but the full integration of the Wing was a problem for Cor, not him, thankfully.

Not that they had much time to socialize. In addition to work detail and weyrling training classes, they had demanding dragons to care for. Feed, bathe, oil, then catch a nap if you were lucky enough not to have a chore rotation when they slept. At least now they weren’t eating quite as constantly. Cor said they’d start to sleep through the night soon, and Noctis prayed it wouldn’t be much longer. The strain of sleep deprivation coupled with intense physical labor had everyone on edge. Cor said it was good practice for the harsh conditions you could expect to face on lengthy patrols, but Noctis was dubious. There was no Thread; what could possibly cause any patrol to go so horribly awry that they’d need to survive under similarly untenable circumstances?

Noctis finally made it down to the ledge designated as a loading dock for the firestone deliveries. Hefting another sack, he winced. If he’d had breath in his lungs, he’d have shot a muttered comment at Prompto, who was assigned to the same rotation. From the looks of things, his blonde friend was fairing just as poorly as he was.

Just then, Gladio bounded by, looking far too energetic for someone who’d been hauling bags of rock for the last two hours. He hefted one bag on each massive shoulder and quickly overtook both Noctis and Prompto on the return journey.

“Sharding… Gladio…” Noct wheezed.

“Uh huh,” Prompto gasped in reply.

Later that evening at dinner, Noctis gleefully discovered the rest of their class had been on numbweed duty. Noctis would rather haul rock every single day than be assigned to watch over those massive kettles; the stench they gave off while boiling was repulsive. But, numbweed was necessary for it’s anesthetic properties. It even worked on dragons, which was why the Weyr needed a generous supply.

“What d’ya make of them?” he asked his friends, jerking his shoulder towards the far end of the table where Ignis and Aranea sat. The two brown riders weren’t talking and scarcely seemed to look at each other - or anything else, for that matter, focusing on methodically eating their dinners with single-minded focus.

Prompto shrugged, his cheeks stuffed too full of roast tubers to reply.

Gladio rolled his eyes at Prompto’s lack of table manners before speaking. “Maybe they like each other.”

“You think so?” Noctis asked dubiously. “But he’s so quiet. And she’s so… not.”

“Pretty sure the harper doesn’t like women that way,” Prompto added once he’d swallowed. “Maybe it’s just cause they’re the only two brown riders in our class?”

“Maybe.” Noctis didn’t truly care; he was just trying to will his tired mind to make some sort of conversation.

The chatter in the hall quieted as the assembled riders and weyrfolk seemed to hold their breath. Just a moment and then the typical cheerful din resumed, but it was enough to get Noctis’s attention.

“Isn’t that the new queen rider?” Prompto asked excitedly. “Haven’t seen her around much. Wonder what she’s been up to?”

“Learning how to be a weyrwoman,” Gladio said, his voice matter-of-fact. “She doesn’t need to learn the same skills we do. They have different duties.”

Noctis was peripherally aware that his friends were still talking, but his entire world had narrowed in its focus, his eyes locked on Lunafreya’s graceful form. She went to sit with the other gold riders as was proper, but he noticed that she traded greetings with Nyx and most members of his Wing. Interesting.

“Heeeeey! Noctis!” Prompto was waved a hand inches away from Noctis’s face. “Did Lucith wake up or something?”

“No,” Noctis said curtly. He stabbed a piece of wherry and shoved it in his mouth gracelessly.

Gladio’s rumbled chuckle caused heat to burn along the tips of Noctis’s ears. He slouched down, hoping they wouldn’t notice.

“Someone has a crush,” Gladio teased. “Not that I blame you. She’s a beauty.”

“She’s a gold rider,” Noctis snapped crossly.

“Yeah… and you Impressed bronze, buddy!” Prompto pointed out cheerfully. “Who knows, maybe you two’ll take over for your mom and dad someday!”

 _Shells_ , Noctis hoped not.

He didn’t speak again the rest of dinner, and made his escape as soon as it was polite to do so. Noctis headed straight back to the weyrling quarters, deciding to defy Cor’s injunction about sleeping in their beds. He curled up against Lucith’s comforting bulk and tried to get the image of spun-gold hair and sky blue eyes out of his head.

Sleep was a long time coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment and tell me what you think! <3
> 
> Next time: flight drills!


	6. Threadfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Those of you who follow me on Tumblr know that I put this story on hiatus to finish another of my works (What Would Happen - check it out, it's done!) and then I used NaNoWriMo to make as much progress on Dragonscourge as I could. I wrote the next ten chapters during NaNo, though they still need a _lot_ of editing! 
> 
> I also realized in the course of my research, that I have some errors in chapters 1 - 5. Most notably in chapter 5, when I focus on the new dragons being near their first birthday, and how Luna's gold will be ready to mate soon. Dragons actually reach their maturity at 2 - 2.5 years of age, so I will be going back and making some necessary revisions to those earlier chapters. However, since you've all been so very patient for so long, I wanted to get chapter 6 posted before any more time had passed, so here it is! You'll notice with this chapter going forward, the dragons are now a little over 2 years old to fit with canon lore.
> 
> As always, my heartfelt gratitude to [aliatori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori) for her beta-san services, as well as listening to me plan and re-plan and whine about writing being hard, and just being an amazing friend all-around! <3

Perhaps the time moved more quickly for Gladio than the others because he was already accustomed to the cyclical nature of life in the Weyr. He’d have to ask Noct, see if his boyhood friend felt the same way. Most of their Weyrling class spent more time griping than studying, to Gladio’s mind - why couldn’t they fly their dragons when they had grown so much in two years? Why did they have to stay grounded while their draconic partners had the freedom of the skies? Most had, at least, learned to stifle their mutterings when the Weyrlingmaster was present. Cor had little patience for impatience.

Gladio could understand the desire to finally _be_ a rider, to soar the skies, to blink _between_ , to attain that greater freedom of travel all dragonriders shared. But he wasn’t about to endanger Amicitath by rushing their first partnered flight.

Besides, today, their waiting would be over.

His green had grown well, Gladio mused fondly as he watched her tear her way through her breakfast. Perfectly proportioned. On the large side for a green - which meant still dwarfed by her larger kin. She had grown so much those first two years, Gladio no longer feared he’d break her back when he mounted up.

And today, he’d finally join her in the great blue yonder. He’s see firsthand what he’d only observed as a passenger - Insomnia Weyr and Citadel Hold from above. Maybe soon he’d finally spy the lush forests of Tenebrae, and even go to the Northern Continent and see the fabled Fort Weyr, first of the Weyrs. The Harper Hall, the Smithcraft Hall, famed Benden and Ruatha and all the others. Southern Continent, too, with its historical Landing, the convergence sight of Pern’s defeat of thread all those years ago.

He saw Amicitath discard what was left of the herdbeast carass, and watched those whirring orange eyes turn towards another. _That’s enough_ , he said to her, the edge of laughter shading his mental voice.

 _One more!_ she demanded, turning that scintillating gaze on him.

 _One more and you won’t be able to get off the ground_ , he teased fondly.

 _We fly soon?_ Food forgotten, she shambled over to the fence of the beastpen. _Together?_

 _That we do_ , he said, reaching out to scratch her eye-ridges lovingly.

_Let’s go!_

* * *

Once the weyrlings had all geared up and assembled, they stood in a line at attention, their dragons ranged behind them. Cor strode the line as he gave last-minute instructions. “We’re keeping it simple today. Don’t try and push yourself or your dragon. We’ll go aloft over the Weyr, circle out towards the Hold, and return. You should use this opportunity to put visuals to the verbal drills we’ve done on the recognition points for both Weyr and Hold. Memorize the images, relay them to your dragons, and see if they find them to be clear. Do _not_ attempt to go _between_ today.” His face was grim. “We have more drills to run before that is safe. Need I tell again the story of the weyrling and his dragon, found entombed in a stone wall at Benden Weyr centuries ago?”

Now it was Gladio’s turn for impatience. He struggled to stand still, to stay focused on the Weyrlingmaster’s voice, though he’d heard all this before. One advantage from growing up in the Weyr was picking up a good deal of dragonlore and teachings as he grew up. Though he’d be the first to admit that these classes since Impression had been invaluable. There was knowledge restricted to dragonriders - not so much out of secrecy, but the simple fact no one else needed to know, say, how much firestone it took to make a proper flame. Maybe the miners knew that one. But Gladio had learned a lot, and he was eager to put it into practice.

“Mount up!” Cor barked, and the Weyrlings hastened to their dragons’ sides.

Amiticath bowed down, offering her foreleg as a step for Gladio to use to hoist himself onto her neck. It truly was serendipitous the way the dragons’ neck-ridges formed natural seats, though it was the bevy of safety straps that ensured you’d not fall off mid-flight.

 _I’d never drop you_ , Amicitath said, sounding hurt at the notion.

 _I know_ , Gladio hastened to assure her. _But better safe than sorry, yeah?_

She rumbled irritably, but allowed him to finish cinching up the leather harness that would give him additional safety. Truthfully, he thought it silly - he trusted his dragon with his life. But, rules were rules, and making the straps had given Gladio something to do over the cold months when storms forced them all indoors.

After he finished, he looked around to see how his peers fared. Most seemed to have it under control. Gladio saw his friends were all mounted, strapped in, and waiting; the rest weren’t far behind. At long last, all were in readiness, and Cor’s great brown beast appeared behind him.

Cor vaulted up with no need for his partner’s foreleg. Shards, Leonith hardly had to lower himself. The Weyrlingmaster’s easy grace bespoke years of making similar leaps, and Gladio knew that in no time at all, he and his friends would have that familiarity and muscle memory.

He focused on Cor, watching for the signal to take off. Cor’s fist pumped into the air, and a loud scraping sound was heard as all the dragons’ feet shifted, powerful hind legs tensing as they prepared to spring aloft.

And then Gladio was airborne, and nothing else mattered.

He whooped in joy, a massive smile splitting his face. He was flying! They were finally flying together! And it was just as amazing as he’d thought it would be. Sure, Gladio was no stranger to dragonflight, but it was entirely different riding your own dragon than being a passenger.

It was him and Amicitath against the world.

Leonith bellowed, and Gladio’s grin turned chagrined. Well, them _and_ their wingmates. He stared over at Cor, waiting for directions. Amicitath held her place in the sky perfectly, her even wing-beats reminding Gladio of nothing so much as when he treaded water.

 _I’m treading the sky_ , she said, preening.

 _You’re amazing_ , Gladio said, patting her neck.

Cor moved his arm in the motion meaning ‘form up’. Gladio and Amicitath took their place in the vee-formation, midway in the left-hand branch. He caught Noctis’s eyes as they crossed over and the two shared a quick grin as they took their places.

And then Cor signaled ‘head out’ and all the dragons moved in near-perfect synchronicity, beginning to circle around the Weyr.

Gladio stared unabashed at the sight of the Weyr from above. Despite having seen it all before, it still seemed new and exciting from his own dragon’s back. After completing a circle, they veered off towards the Hold, and Gladio alternately looked below at trees, at herdbeasts, and all around him at puffy clouds and the other dragons and riders.

Before long, Citadel Hold was in sight. Prompto had come from here, Gladio recalled. Gladio himself had never been there. Why visit the Hold when you lived at the Weyr? He supposed he’d become more familiar with this Hold - and others - once they began to drill _between_.

 _Leonith says we are to circle west and return to the Weyr_ , Amicitath said. _Why do we have to stop so soon?_

 _It’s important not to over-strain you, dear heart_ , Gladio responded. _We’ll fly again tomorrow._

 _It would_ never _hurt me to carry you!_ his green argued, causing Gladio to smile. He knew she’d ‘feel’ the emotion behind the expression through their bond.

The vee of the weyrlings wing turned in a wide circle until they were all headed due west. The sun was high overhead, glinting off the clouds and causing them to sparkle.

Wait.

Clouds didn’t sparkle.

 _Thread!_ Amicitath screamed mentally even as she - and all the other dragons - roared in challenge at their ancient foe.

“Faranth,” Gladio breathed reverently, his amber eyes wide and horror-filled. Just before them silvery tendrils writhed in mid-air; deadly Threads raining down towards a Pern that hadn’t seen their like in hundreds of years. He wondered how it was possible; he wondered how Thread could exist when the Red Star had been knocked out of Pern’s orbit; he wondered what they should do.

And then a streak of hot fire burned along his face and he wondered nothing except if this was the day he died.

Without waiting for direction, Amicitath heeded her instincts and blinked _between_. Gladio batted at the Thread clinging to his face. In the cold of _between_ it froze and shattered, the fragments brushing off his cheek easily. When they returned to their formation, Gladio kept his left eye pinched shut, desperately hoping he wasn’t going to lose the sight in it.

 _I’ll see for you_ , Amicitath insisted fiercely. _Leonith is angry. He says we should not have gone_ between _. But how else would we kill the Thread that struck you?_

 _Just stay in formation_ , Gladio said, grateful he didn’t have to try to verbally speak through his gritted teeth. _The Weyrlingmaster will know what to do._

Cor led the weyrlings in a broad arc, well around the path of the deadly Threads. They seemed to be limited to a very concise window - something to be thankful for.

But… the Gather meadow was just below them.

Suddenly, screaming out battle cries, hundreds of dragons appeared at low altitude, the senior wings of Insomnia Weyr. The great, skilled beasts put to practice the skills honed in festival games, searing the Thread in the sky. Far below, Gladio saw the golden glint of the queens’ wing, and knew the weyrwomen and their flamethrowers would try to catch any tendrils missed by the others.

It was over in an instant; it lasted hours. When they at last touched down in the weyrbowl, Gladio felt exhausted.

“We need a healer,” Cor bellowed, grabbing Gladio’s arm, causing Amicitath to hiss.

Lunafreya walked over with bandages and a small pot of numbweed salve. Her Fleurenth must have spoken to Amicitath, for Gladio’s green settled after one more grumble.

“Let me see,” Lunafreya said softly, reaching out with gentle fingers to examine Gladio’s face. He yelped with pain when she touched the wound, and she flushed scarlet. “I’m so sorry!” she apologized, slathering numbweed on his face, bringing instant relief.

“It’s fine,” he ground out. “My eye?”

“Try opening it for me?”

He did, and nearly wept in relief when he realized that while it was sore, he could see.

“I’ll need to stitch this,” Lunafreya said. “You’re going to have a scar.”

* * *

Later, after the wounded had been tended and food had been served, as much of the weyrfolk as could fit gathered into the Great Hall. Weyrleader Regis stood on a raised platform, Weyrwoman Aulea standing beside him, offering her silent support. Noctis thought his parents looked as shocked as he and all the others felt and he couldn’t blame them. He knew that they tried to present a calm front, but who could be calm at a time like this?

By the First Egg, how had Thread returned? How was it even possible?

What were they going to do about it?

As the dragonriders continued speculating among themselves, Noctis saw Regis’s brows draw together impatiently. Finally, he raised a hand, which garnered the near immediate silence he had been waiting for.

“You’ve all heard stories about what happened today,” Regis began. “Let me lay at least a few rumors aside. No one died. Yes, some Thread got through the lines. We flamed the burrows, and the threat is gone.”

“For now,” an insouciant voice drawled. Noctis turned and scowled when he put a face to the disrespectful voice. He’d never liked bronze rider Ardyn, and it figured he would be the only person audacious enough to interrupt Regis when he spoke of such important matters.

“I have sent to the Harper Hall for any information they might have about this… aberration,” Regis continued as if Ardyn hadn’t interrupted. “While we await their response, we double our patrols. Messenger riders have been sent to all other Weyrs and the major Holds to see if any others faced Thread today.” He sighed, and as his face sagged with the expression, Noctis realized with a pang in his chest that his father looked like he’d aged a decade in a day. “Report to your Wingleaders after the evening meal for more information.”

Silence reigned for several tense minutes after the Weyrleader climbed off the platform and took his seat at the head table, but then the cavern workers began circulating, serving up the evening meal. The food seemed to fortify folks, and gradually conversations broke out to fill the air.

The weyrlings’ table was unusually quiet. Perhaps that was to be expected, since Gladio was still down in the infirmary rather than in his usual place; Gladio was a talker, after all.

Noct missed him, and hoped that he’d heal up quickly.

“So… Thread,” Prompto ventured, violet eyes darting nervously between Noctis and the others.

“Yeah,” Noctis said, his tone wrapped in disbelief. If he hadn’t seen it… shells, he _had_ seen it, and he was still having trouble believing.

He wondered what other areas on Pern were affected by the deadly silver rain.

He wondered if those unaffected would believe the Insomnians.

“Harper!” Regis called out above the din. “A song after your supper?”

Ignis rose and bowed. While he hadn’t been granted the title Weyrsinger - that was reserved for a more senior rider than a mere weyrling - he was the only harper in residence. “I would be honored,” he murmured before retaking his seat and tucking into his meal with a will.

Noctis wondered what he’d play. Something lighthearted, to lift everyone’s spirits? Something martial, to inspire their wills? He tried to finish his food too, not wanting to be distracted by trying to eat while there was music to listen to.

With a dramatic presence trained into him for years, Ignis took down the Weyr guitar from its place of honor on the wall, and made a show of tuning it. He took his time, nodding to himself when each string sang true, then played a series of testing chords before ending in a skillful arpeggio.

As it turned out, Ignis chose a simple Teaching Ballad. Tonight, the familiar tune carried extra weight. Tonight, Noctis wasn’t the only one feeling nauseous as the truth of the lyrics hit home.

_“Dragonmen must fly_

_When Threads are in the sky._

_Worlds are lost or worlds are saved_

_From those dangers dragon-braved.”_

* * *

Much later, after nearly all had gone to sleep, Ignis crept from the small weyr he’d been assigned when Spectoth had turned two Turns old. The privacy came in hand at times - like tonight, when he wished to move about the Weyr unnoticed.

He paused in the doorway and cast a tender look back at the large brown bulk of his dragon. Never in all his years of study and song had Ignis imagined the depth of feeling that would be shared between a bonded human and dragon pair. While he’d never been much of a lyricist, he found himself struggling to put it to words, to come up with a melody that could evoke even a tenth of the love and belonging. Never again would Ignis question his place in the world; never again would he fear he’d not fit in if he asked the wrong questions or sang the wrong songs.

He was a dragonrider. He’d found his place.

It was hard to take the harper out of one raised in the Hall, and it was this that had him creeping down the corridors from his weyr, across the empty Lower Cavern, until he reached the infirmary.

Gladio wasn’t the only patient, of course. A half dozen riders had been Threadscored - and a miracle it was that the number wasn’t ten times as high, Ignis thought fervently. Ignis endeavored to be as quiet as possible, though he suspected the others would sleep through the quiet conversation he hoped to have, as dosed up as they were on fellis juice.

Despite the angry, red scar bisecting one plane of Gladio’s face, he was actually the least hurt of all those who’d felt Thread’s deadly touch that day. As such, Ignis was hoping the green rider hadn’t been given fellis so that he’d be more coherent.

If he _had_ been given the strong medicine, however… maybe he’d speak more freely.

“Gladio,” Ignis whispered, tapping one broad shoulder where it peeked out from beneath the woven blanket, a stunning work of craftsmanship that had to have been created by a master of the art. It showed a scene of dragons with little stitched gouts of flame aimed towards gray filaments. How apt of a tithe to bequeath upon the Weyr.

“Gladio,” he hissed again, insistently. Just as Ignis turned away to leave, thinking the large man dosed beyond consciousness, he heard a sleep-blurred voice.

“Whazzat?” Gladio tried to sit up and moaned, clutching at his head with one hand.

Ignis felt a flush of shame. Perhaps he should have just let the injured man rest. But he had questions he desperately wished answered, and, well, Gladio had offered that if Ignis ever needed anything, he could come to him. Granted, Ignis had never taken Gladio up on that in the all the time they’d been wingmates, but there was a first time for everything.

Including Thread falling from a sky lacking a Red Star, apparently.

“Gladio,” Ignis said a third time, gentling his voice. “How do you feel?”

His unmarred chestnut brow quirked sardonically over a clear amber eye. Ignis thought again how odd it was that one so obviously of the line of F’lar and F’lon hadn’t Impressed bronze. But he was sure there was a reason for it; the dragons always knew. And there was nothing wrong with green dragons, after all - they were the fastest and most agile dragons on all of Pern.

“I feel like I got Threadscored,” Gladio said dryly. “And woken up in the middle of the night.” He managed to sit up gingerly, still cradling the left side of his head in one wide palm. “You need something that couldn’t wait.” It wasn’t a question.

“I…” Ignis trailed off, wondering what excuse he could make to back out and let Gladio go back to his much needed sleep. But that was not his way - unless it more readily accomplished his goal. Well, in for a mark, in for a purse. “What was it like?” he blurted out, letting his voice show his horror, his curiosity, his continued shock at Thread’s appearance.

“Fucking hurt,” Gladio growled. “Grateful my dragon knew what to do, ‘cause I couldn’t sharding _think_ , I hurt so bad.”

“That must be why the endless drills,” Ignis mused, “for riders and dragons alike.”

Gladio shrugged. “I think she acted on instinct. We haven’t even started _between_ drills yet.”

Ignis tapped a fingertip against pursed lips, mulling that over. Instinct or intelligence, either way, Amicitath’s quick action had saved her rider’s life.

“What was it like… _between_? As rider and not passenger?”

Gladio barked a rough sound that was a mixture halfway between laugh and cough. “Cold. Dark. Silent.” He flashed a grin akin to his similar cheer, though he winced slightly when it tugged at his wound. “ _Terrifying._ ”

They sat in silence for a while, each man lost in his own thoughts. Ignis was a touch surprised by Gladio’s honesty, but then, weyrbred as he was, he’d have been raised with cautionary tales of _between_. Perhaps Gladio didn’t find this admission of fear as startling as Ignis did. Nonetheless, Ignis decided all over again how refreshing it was to live in the Weyr, where people were too busy training dragons to bother with deception. Rare was the weyrfolk who twisted words or hid their true feelings; it had taken Ignis some getting used to, and he still had trouble responding in kind. But this seemed like a good moment to allow himself to not only _feel_ , but to express it. A look of resolve hardened his fine-boned features, and he took a breath, reaching out to Gladio.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Ignis said, clasping a hand on Gladio’s forearm and squeezing. His verdant gaze met that sunset visage and they shared a smile.

“Sing me to sleep?” Gladio asked quietly.

Ignis’s smile deepened, and his last vestige of nerves fell away. “Of course. Lay down.” He helped Gladio lower himself back to his pallet, and then knelt on the floor so that his lips weren’t far from Gladio’s ear. “Any requests?”

“Red Star,” Gladio murmured sleepily.

He must mean the ancient ballad _Red Star Passes_ , Ignis decided before starting to softly sing.

_“Seas boil, mountains move,_

_Sands heat, dragons prove_

_Red Star passes...”_

Ignis heard Gladio’s breathing even out, but finished the song anyway. After the last note faded away, he reached out once more, smoothing Gladio’s blankets around him to ensure he’d be warm the rest of the night. The Weyr could get quite chilly - though compared to _between_ , Ignis fancied it would feel like a summer’s day at Ista.

Snatching his hand back before he gave in to the impulse to similarly smooth that luxurious brown hair, Ignis rose and left as quietly as he’d entered. When he returned to his weyr, Spectoth rumbled a quiet welcome, and Ignis patted his snout as he crossed to his sleeping chamber. Ignis’s mind whirred with the influx of information the day had provided: Thread had returned, but how widespread? And _how_? Gladio was healing nicely, and the other injured riders seemed to be faring well, too. They had pre-dawn drills with Cor the next day, Ignis recalled with a grimace, so he stripped off his riding leathers and climbed into his bed.

But sleep was a long time coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I am not sure when the next chapter will go live, but I hope to go back on a regular posting schedule in 2019. I wish everyone a safe and happy holiday season!
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://xylianna.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated if the spirit moves you. <3
> 
> Note: The two song lyric snippets are taken directly from McCaffrey's books, and I take no credit for them. If you search on YouTube, you can find the songs!


	7. Harbinger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this chapter is 100% better thanks to my beta-san [aliatori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori) <3

Noctis yawned, rubbing a forearm over his eyes to try and clear the sleep from them without needing to drop the meatroll in his hand. He felt like he’d only just drifted off, and another day had already begun. That was life in the Weyr these past few months since that aberrant Threadfall. Everyone was on tenterhooks waiting to see when it would fall again - _where_ it would fall again.

_And no one else believes us_ , Noctis though indignantly. Even if the riders were lying, the dragons certainly wouldn’t. Noct thought they actually _couldn’t_. That was one benefit of telepathic mind-links - honesty was a given.

To be fair, the other Weyrs believed that _something_ had happened. One by one the senior queen dragons had bespoken Reginth to hear the story, and no one would ever accuse a dragon of lying - least of all one of the golden queens. But the idea of Thread returning after longer than the longest Interval, with no Red Star winking ominously overhead… it just didn’t make sense.

The Holders were acting as if Insomnia made it up to extract extra tithes. Truth be told, they _had_ been asking for more supplies than usual, especially food and herdbeasts since training drills had been doubled and people - and dragons - were tired. Lord Ravus on Tenebrae Hold was the worst of the lot, which baffled Noctis since his sister lived here now, having Impressed the newborn gold two years past.

Noctis blinked as the thought occurred that maybe he could ask Lunafreya to explain why the Holders were behaving as they were. Perhaps, having been hold-bred, she’d have some insight. Mind made up, he resumed his trek down to the Lower Cavern for breakfast. Crimson stained his cheeks as he called Lunafreya’s image to mind, those lithe limbs and gentle waves of hair, eyes as rich and vibrant as a sylleblossom on the summer solstice.

He heard the coughing bark of draconic laughter in his mind and realized Lucith was listening to his thoughts and laughing at him. _Maybe you won’t be so quick to laugh when Fleurenth flies_ , Noctis taunted.

_Maybe not_ , Lucith said agreeably. _I’m going back to sleep until you’re done eating. Then I wish to bathe at the lake._

_We have drills in an hour. Maybe later._

The mental equivalent of a disgruntled rumble, and then Lucith’s presence in Noctis’s mind faded, the massive bronze tumbling into slumber.

When Noctis made it into the large room, he saw many had beaten him to breakfast. In fact, there was Lunafreya, sitting at a table by herself. Perfect. Noctis hastily grabbed a bowl of porridge and a mug of klah, making his way across the Cavern so quickly the only way he could’ve gone faster would have been to run or blink _between_.

Yet still, he was beaten. Nyx sat down across from Lunafreya with a brilliant smile, one that she met beaming.

Slowing and circling to a table a bit apart, Noctis smirked when he saw three more bronze riders join them. His smirk faded when he saw how uncomfortable Lunafreya looked as the number grew and he resisted the urge to clap his palm to his forehead.

Of course. Her dragon was nearing two and a half Turns… she could rise soon.

Noctis felt a flare of righteous anger on her behalf, even as the part of him that was weyrbred realized this was just the way things went. In the end, it would be Lunafreya - or her queen - or both of them together who chose who they mated with, and no amount of pre-flight obsequiousness would change that. As for Noctis and his questions about the Hold, he’d just have to wait until she wasn’t so… besieged.

“Hey, buddy!” Prompto’s cheerful chirp pulled Noctis from his thoughts. Turning, he smiled at his friend.

“Get some sleep?”

“Some,” Prompto said, continuing to speak in between mouthfuls of porridge. “No nightmares, at least. Hey, today we start training _between_ , right?”

“Right,” Noctis agreed. “We’ll each be paired with a senior dragonrider to drill recognition points.”

“Prompto!” a voice called out right behind them, causing both younger men to turn and look.

Noctis recognized Setzer, blue Maeruth’s rider. “I’m partnered with you today, lad,” Setzer drawled. “If you’re done feeding your face, let’s rouse your dragon and be off.”

“Right!” Prompto leapt to his feet, nearly tripping over the bench in his haste. “Let’s go!”

Noctis remembered Prompto had been searched by the older blue rider, and wondered if that was part of the reason they were partnered for today’s exercise. More likely it had to do with availability, or perhaps the fact they were both blue riders.

“Anytime you’re ready,” a familiar tenor sounded from Noctis’s left, lilting with humor, “we can be off, too.”

Noctis already knew who belonged to the voice: the very man who’d swept in before he could join Lunafreya. He’d known better than to expect to be paired with his father or Clarus, but… well, Nyx was a solid rider. Noctis would probably learn a lot, he had to admit.

He stood with more dignity than his friend, while inwardly wishing he could dance with joy at the thought of finally taking Lucith _between_. “I’m ready now.”

“Great!” Nyx said, clapping a companionable hand on Noctis’s shoulder. “Let’s go!”

* * *

As they hovered high in the air above the grassy plains of Boll, Ignis allowed himself to slump wearily against his dragon for a moment. He’d been pleased to be assigned to a senior brown rider he admired and hoped to get to know better: Crowe, rider of Altiuth, Wingsecond of Kingsglaive Wing. The best friend he’d made in the Weyr to date was assigned along with them, adding some fun to the routine training exercise. However, Crowe seemed to have the notion that since she had two students, she should work them twice as hard, and Ignis suspected Aranea was as fatigued as he was by this point.

Not that either of them would ever admit it.

He saw Crowe pump her fist in the signal to land, but before Ignis could bespeak his dragon, Spectoth began to circle downward in a controlled spiral. Ignis fancied the three brown dragons must look like they were being drawn down an invisible whirlpool as they cycled closer to the ground. Draconic instinct ensured they avoided mid-air collisions. After they landed and dismounted, the three riders met in the center of a triangle formed by their three resting dragons. Crowe’s Altiuth was larger than Spectoth and Miyuth, and had some scarring along his left flank that Ignis was curious to ask about, though as of yet his manners hadn’t permitted him to be so bold with a senior rider.

_A charging garula caught me unaware_ , a strange voice sounded in Ignis’s head, causing him to stagger mid-step. Verdant eyes widened when he realized Altiuth had heard his question - and answered it. He turned and bowed to the great brown beast before giving Crowe his full attention.

Both Crowe and Aranea were looking at him with eyebrows knit close in curiosity.

“You tripped over empty ground,” Aranea observed dryly.

“Something on your mind?” Crowe asked acerbically.

“I, ah,” Ignis fidgeted, his fingers toying with the hem of his riding jacket. “Your dragon overheard my thoughts and… answered them.” Deciding honesty was the best policy didn’t mean he had to volunteer _all_ his secrets.

Crowe’s dark eyes unfocused as she communicated silently with her dragon. Her features tightened, and Ignis wondered just how badly he’d misstepped. He hadn’t realized Altiuth would hear him, after all.

When her eyes sharpened and honed in on him, Ignis took a step back reflexively. Aranea was very silent, probably hoping that their teacher’s growing ire would land solely on his unfortunate head.

“You can hear dragons other than your own,” Crowe said, no hint of question in her voice.

“Well… yes,” Ignis admitted.

“Why haven’t you told anyone? Do you have any idea how rare that is? And what an asset to the Weyr?” she demanded in rapid-fire succession.

“I…” he tried to collect his thoughts. “When I was Searched, the bronze spoke to me. His rider knew.” Ignis didn’t mean to throw the man to the wherries, but if it meant deflecting some of the anger over his subterfuge, well… he wasn’t above it.

“Nyx searched you,” Crowe said flatly. “He should have told you what a talent that was. He should have told the Weyrlingmaster, not to mention Regis and Aulea.” After that, she fell pensively silent, tapping one slim finger against her chin.

Ignis glanced at Aranea who shrugged. “You expect us to believe that you’re harper-trained and didn’t realize what a gift you had?” Her voice was incredulous.

He scowled, and she smiled sweetly in return. “I just… I didn’t… oh, _shells_ ,” he swore. Turning back to face Crowe, he bowed deeply. “I am sorry that I did not say anything. I will report to the Weyrlingmaster as soon as we return to Insomnia, and use this skill for the good of the Weyr.”

“Sharding right you will,” Crowe growled. A thought occurred to her, and she grinned wickedly. “No wonder you look so tired. Dragons’ chatter keeping you up at night?”

Ignis nodded.

“Well, consider that your penance for not speaking up. We can teach you to tune that out, you know.”

“You can?” he grasped on her words eagerly. Ah, to sleep the whole night through again; what a wondrous thing that would be.

“You weren’t doing anyone favors hiding this, Ignis,” Crowe said seriously, her flash of humor fading as quickly as it had flared. “Least of all yourself.”

He nodded again, more thoughtfully. “You’re right. I shan’t do it again.”

“Good!” She grinned, that easy cheer sparkling once more in her eyes.

“What’s it like?” Aranea asked. “My Miyuth speaking inside my head took enough getting used to. I can’t imaging hearing all of them.”

“It’s… crowded,” Ignis tried to explain. “But comforting. Like being alone at a busy Gather, hearing all the conversation but still having some breathing room.”

_You’re never alone_ , Spectoth said fiercely.

_I know, my heart. I was speaking metaphorically._

Aranea frowned as she considered that. “If you can hear them - and Altiuth clearly just heard you - I wonder how much of your thoughts they’ve been hearing?” Olive eyes went blurry as she consulted Miyuth. When her lips quirked in an amused smirk, Ignis groaned.

“How much?” he asked.

“Altiuth says you never shut up, so I’m guessing that means you broadcast pretty constantly.”

Crowe seemed as amused as Aranea. “We’ll teach you to stop doing that, too.”

“My thanks,” Ignis said stiffly.

Conversation lulled as the three drank from water bottles. The mid-morning sun was hot, but not unpleasant. The dragons certainly enjoyed it, going so far as to spread their wings while their riders talked, all the better to soak up those warm rays.

“Alright!” Crowe dusted her hands against each other and pulled her gloves back on. “Break’s over. We’re gonna drill regional recognition points, and then return to the Weyr for luncheon. Mount up!”

* * *

When they returned from training, Prompto was exhausted. He didn’t get to rest yet though, no. First he had to scrub and oil Argentamth and get him settled for his own nap. Then Prompto could find some lunch - presuming he could stay awake long enough to eat it.

“C’mon,” he said, turning and walking towards the lake. He felt his dragon prepare to take-off and smiled at the sight of the brilliant blue soaring overhead. The splash of Argentamth hitting the water was magnificent, and Prompto hastened to join his partner, ready to scrub away the dirt from the morning’s exertions.

After a thorough scouring and prolonged cavorting disguised as rinsing, his dragon decided he was clean enough. As he lumbered out from the water, Prompto pulled out the jar of oil, twisting off the top with practiced ease. He reached out to begin to smear it over his dragon’s hide when Argentamth let out a keening wail Prompto had never heard before.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, but in an instant, he knew. Tears filled violet eyes and his face twisted in sorrow.

A dragon had died. They must return to the Weyr.

Prompto hopped up on his dragon’s back and they flew direct; it only took a few minutes and they were back. Clinging to the rim were a muted rainbow of dragons, their colors darkened and eyes whirring red-orange.

“Oh, no,” Prompto whispered raggedly as he realized what his bondmate already knew. _Not the Weyrwoman!_ If Insomnia Weyr had become the family Prompto never had, Weyrwoman Aulea was mother to them all. As his friendship with Noctis grew, Prompto had also gotten to know his parents during a number of shared dinners and other excursions. He was going to miss Aulea dearly; he was going to miss Reginth, too, the queen dragon always having been kind to both him and Argentamth.

Those tears spilled from his eyes now, and Prompto didn’t care who saw. Besides, he expected the entire Weyr would be mourning. Aulea just had a way about her. Prompto knew the reason she’d touched so many lives here was be virtue of her position, but he wagered she’d be just as compassionate, just as caring, and just as beloved even were she a green rider and not senior weyrwoman.

Aulea was dead. Reginth would have followed her into death, going _between_ when her rider’s presence vanished from her mind. Dragons never survived their riders; they always leapt _between_ to follow them into death. Riders could sometimes survive their dragons, if they had something compelling enough to hold them to life.

Prompto looked around at the chaos roiling through the weyrbowl, riders and weyrfolk scurrying around frantically. The dragons had the right idea, Prompto thought, just clinging to the massive rim and keening their grief to the sky.

He saw a familiar face, the harper, and grabbed his arm to stop him from walking past. “What happened?”

Ignis looked at Prompto, green eyes serious. “Aulea was found dead after her dragon… went _between_. The cause of death is yet to be determined.”

“She seemed healthy…” Prompto trailed off, eyes filling with tears again. He tried to hold them back, but some escaped.

“She did,” Ignis said grimly, swiping moisture from his own eyes. “Stay alert.” With that terse warning, he strode off, leaving Prompto alone.

Prompto wiped his face and wandered into the kitchens, figuring he could lend a hand. People would need to eat, and he needed something to do. Approaching Takka, he didn’t even have to say a word. The headman kindly directly Prompto towards a workstation and he set to peeling tubers.

He wondered how Noctis was doing. Prompto had never known his mother, so he had no real understanding of how this loss would feel. How could you miss what you never had? Aulea’s death was hitting Prompto this hard, how much worse was it for Noct? He vowed to be there for Noctis in the coming days, whatever he needed.

_He won’t be alone_ , Argentamth promised. _We are with him and the Weyrleader._

Prompto’s heart swelled with gratitude for the compassion of dragonkind. ‘Thank you’ didn’t seem like strong enough words, but he knew the dragons didn’t expect any gratitude. One of their own had fallen - they would help care for those left behind.

Just as Prompto would. As they _all_ would.

* * *

Noctis didn’t want their pity. It wasn’t genuine.

He knew why people were swarming him, and thought it laughable. His mother’s corpse was hardly cold and already the vultures circled.

Lucith was only two years old, for fuck’s sake! It stood to reason that a more seasoned dragon - and rider - would be the next Weyrleader. Not an untried weyrling.

Noctis did agree with the sentiment that his father was unlikely to retain his position when the next golden queen rose to mate. It was well known how in love the preeminent pair of Insomnia had been with one another for decades. Songs about their love were sung alongside those written for Lessa and F’lar, for Robinton and Kasia.

Shifting on the stone bench, Noctis lay a hand on his father’s arm. Regis looked ancient in his grief, and Noctis’s eyes pricked with tears anew just to look at him. The last time Noctis had seen a man look so bereft, it was when he’d lost his dragon.

With Aulea’s death, Regis had lost a part of himself just as surely as if his dragon had died. Noctis had lost a mother, but his father had lost his other half.

Shoving down his own sorrow, Noctis grasped for the right words, the right thing to say to ease his father’s misery.

“I love you,” he settled on. What else was there to say? What else mattered?

_We are with the Weyrleader_ , Lucith’s mental voice was subdued. _He hears us, but will not answer._

“I love you too, my son,” Regis said, voice grave. He rose, and Noctis followed suit. “Come. I must address the Weyr.”

“Father,” Noctis stepped in front of Regis, holding up a hand, “no one expects you to do anything tonight.”

“I am still Weyrleader, my son,” Regis said, a weight of sadness seeming to compress his words, making them more staccato than typical. “At least for now. I have a duty.”

And then Noctis understood, for as Regis spoke, his words seemed to settle around him like a mantle. His posture straightened, and his eyes glinted with an echo of their normal command. Regis needed a purpose, needed something to do aside from mourning, needed to focus his thoughts on something constructive.

As the two walked down the hallway towards the Great Hall, Noctis heard the approving rumble of what had to be his father’s dragon, echoed by the softer croon of his own.

They could do this. Together.

Noctis heard the ringing voice before they entered the massive chamber. Bronze rider Ardyn was standing by the hearth, addressing the gathered people.

“…this tragedy, we must all come together closer than before.” Noctis missed the first part of the statement, but figured he was caught up well enough. He and Regis stopped in the doorway. Ardyn noticed them and smirked - _smirked!_ \- but then continued in his oily, overly compassionate tone.

“We owe our loyalty to Weyrleader Regis,” Ardyn declared. “Weyrleader, what think you in this time? What shall we do to recover from this… devastating event?”

Noctis narrowed cerulean eyes. The man was using harper tricks despite never training as one; he was speaking dramatically, playing on people’s emotions, using their grief to draw them in.

And it was working.

Regis straightened himself and cast steely blue eyes about the Great Hall. “We continue to function as a cohesive Weyr. Two tragedies in such a close time-span must not cause us to lose heart.” He took a deep breath, and Noctis found himself inhaling with his father. “Aulea wouldn’t want us spending our time in grief for what is lost. We need to focus on the now: why is Thread back, and how do we stop it?” He strode further into the hall, and at his nod, Noctis broke pace and walked to stand at the Weyrling table next to Prompto. “We continue our drills. We practice with firestone and keep the watchriders out to watch for more Thread. The other Weryleaders report no incursions; it seems like ours was an isolated incident. The harpers and smiths are looking into the how and why.” He stopped and smiled fiercely, despite the way his eyes beaded with tears for his lost love. “‘Dragons _must_ fly when Thread is in the sky’ - and so we shall.” A breath. “Dismissed!”

The last thing Noctis noticed before he left with his Wing was the way Ardyn fumed from his Wing’s table. He obviously wasn’t expecting Regis to recover this quickly; he clearly was not happy about it.

Noctis filed it away, but had faith in his father’s ability to deal with one disgruntled rider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Drop me a line and let me know what you think! <3


	8. Ascension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! I hope everyone had a lovely holiday and 2019 is off to a good start!
> 
> In case you missed it, I did post Chapter 7 over the holidays, and this chapter will not make much sense unless you have read that one. Go take a look - this one isn't going anywhere. ;)
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful [aliatori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori) who makes all my writing so much more readable <3

Several months passed, and gradually the dragons’ colors returned to their brilliant luminescence. Lunafreya thought it would take longer for the riders to recover from the loss of their Weyrwoman, though. She tried her best to bolster spirits, but she was still a weyrling, her queen untried and not yet three years old.

She’d spent much of her time with Garnet and Celes, the three queen riders trying to boost morale and help the riders cope. But none could deny that without a ranking Weyrwoman, the entirety of Insomnia Weyr was rudderless.

“Whichever queen rises to mate next,” Celes had explained kindly, “her rider will be Weyrwoman.”

Lunafreya had been shocked. Surely it should be Garnet. She was oldest and most experienced. Celes had laughed her fears away with a fond hug.

“Darling girl, Garnet’s Daggeth is due to rise any day now. Be assured, you won’t be the next Weyrwoman of Insomnia. And neither will I.” The sheer relief in Celes’s timbre helped Lunafreya feel less guilty about her own feelings.

True, she’d been raised from the cradle to be Lady Holder. But despite how progressive Pern liked to say it had become in the last centuries, in most holds, the Lord still ruled while the Lady was responsible for nothing more than child-rearing and overseeing the stores. Lunafreya had no illusions about her readiness to be Weyrwoman. Here in the Weyrs, the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman theoretically shared rank, but their duties were traditionally divided. Ultimately, the Weyrwoman had the highest authority, and Lunafreya knew she was not yet prepared to take on that role for the entire Weyr.

She still felt as if she was floundering just running her own life, even after the years she’d spent here as Fleurenth’s rider.

That morning Lunafreya went about her morning routine quickly - bathing, dressing, and getting breakfast. It was much simpler now that her dragon only ate once a week, though Fleurenth still demanded a daily oiling. She smiled at all the riders she passed, trying to help inspire a positive mood.

The Lower Cavern was empty since she was up so early. That suited her well; more and more often as of late, the bronze riders flocked to her side every time she made an appearance, and it was causing her to spend more time secluded with her dragon. She knew when Fleurenth rose, she’d mate with one of them - but that didn’t mean she wanted to spend all her time pursued now.

Lunafreya was of the mind to leave it up to her beloved dragon to choose. She had no preference among the Insomnian bronzes. Except…

She bit her lip, worrying it in her teeth as she admitted the truth. _Not Ardyn._ Lunafreya thought she could tolerate any other bronze - and truly, any audacious brown as well, though Cor might be awkward as he had a hand in her training. But something about Ardyn just put her off. She knew she should feel appalled at the prospect of sleeping with Regis, who was old enough to be her father. She should feel pause when considering Noctis, who was untried and untested. But Ardyn made her blood run cold her her veins.

Fleurenth hissed, catching her rider’s mood. _I don’t like Izunith. I’d rather fly with Ulrith or Lucith._

_Then choose one of them you shall, my heart,_ Lunafreya said fondly to her life-partner.

After obtaining her food from Takka, and trading friendly words with the headman, Lunafreya chose a table with a view outside. She was eager to escape the confines of the Weyr and continue drilling recognition points. Perhaps Garnet would have time to mentor her again today, and they could keep—

_Hunger. Lust. Insatiable need._ Lunafreya moaned, literally rocking with the emotions coursing through her.

Brown rider Crowe raced into the Lower Cavern, chest heaving with the force of her breath. “Luna, you have to go.” Impatience had Crowe shortening the junior weyrwoman’s name. She gripped Lunafreya’s bicep as she spoke. “Take your dragon and go far away. I’ll go with you.”

“Why?” she asked numbly, still roiling with the feelings transmitted from her gold, who was screaming at the sky from their ledge.

“Daggeth rises. Come on, we have to get you out of here.” Crowe bodily dragged Lunafreya from her seat, and when they walked out into the brisk morning, both their dragons were waiting. Crowe’s Altiuth was sedate, though Lunafreya thought uncharitably that he eyed Fleurenth with a bit more interest than a brown dragon should.

Lunafreya mounted her dragon and followed Crowe’s lead, allowing Fleurenth to take coordinates from Altiuth. She counted her heartbeats and just after the third, they broke back into daylight. Looking down, she spied a quadrangle formed of Weyr, Hold, and two Halls. Instantly she knew she was above Fort - the first settlement founded on the Northern Continent all those centuries ago. Fort Hold and Fort Weyr, the first bastions people formed against Thread after the Crossing. The Healer Hall and Harper Hall, now two separate crafts despite once being simply known as The College.

Fleurenth landed neatly, and Lunafreya leapt down, a practiced motion now after months of flight drills. “Why are we here?” she asked Crowe.

Crowe shrugged expressively. “If we can’t be at the Weyr, we might as well be where there are songs.” Angling her head towards the Harper Hall, she made no secret of her preferred destination. “Come on. Dragonriders are always welcome.”

But Lunafreya turned longingly towards the Healer Hall. What secrets could be gleaned from even an hour’s study of their Records? “I’ll meet you later,” she promised Crowe. “Send my greetings to the Masterharper.”

* * *

Nyx watched as Ulrith leapt aloft, his heart carried with the great bronze beast even as his feet carried him towards Garnet’s weyr. He wasn’t particularly attracted - nor unattracted - to the weyrwoman. Nyx just felt it was still Regis’s time, and he didn’t want to dethrone his Weyrleader just to give his dragon a chance at a gold flight.

_But I’d be a better choice than some_ , he thought grimly, and he felt his words spur Ulrith into a burst of speed, overtaking two other challengers.

Nyx joined the other bronze riders in a loose semi-circle around Garnet. The lady in question stood proudly, her eyes unfocused. She was one with her golden queen, and not truly cognizant of the riders gathered around her. No, the sinuous turns of her hips and way the tongue flickered over her lips were draconic; she was Daggeth and Daggeth was Garnet, completely together as they took this monumental flight.

Shifting from foot to foot, Nyx shot sidelong glances at the other men gathered around. He could tell when dragons flagged and gave up by the way the riders left the queen’s quarters, shoulders sagging and eyes bleary. Soon it was only Regis, Ardyn, and Nyx remaining.

He knew he shouldn’t. But Nyx found himself encouraging his bondmate to falter, to let Caeluth pull to the forefront. Regis had been a truly great leader, and the Weyr would continue to prosper under him. Besides, Nyx didn’t want that responsibility - leading his Wing was duty enough for him.

Looking through his bronze’s multifaceted eyes, their minds joined as one, Nyx saw the instant when Izunith dove between Caeluth and Daggeth. Caeluth bellowed in anger, but it was too late; already Izunith twined his neck with the graceful line of Daggeth’s, and the two…

Nyx blinked, and staggered blindly from Garnet’s weyr, grabbing Regis’s arm and dragging the elder rider outside with him. They didn’t need to stay and witness what passed between Garnet and Ardyn now; the entire Weyr already knew the outcome of this flight.

Ardyn was now Weyrleader of Insomnia Weyr. Regis’s tenure had ended.

Shaking his head, Regis sucked in deep breaths, exhaling heavily. “I should gather my things from the Weyrleader’s quarters,” he murmured.

“Shells, man,” Nyx swore. “Give yourself a minute. They’ll… be busy a while.”

Regis straightened and shot Nyx a look of approbation. “Speak with respect of your Weyrleader and Weyrwoman,” he said soberly. “I will gather my things at once, if you wouldn’t mind sending a couple weyrlings to assist me.” He strode off as regally as ever, and Nyx had to admire his aplomb.

But Ardyn as Weyrleader? He was a solid enough Wingleader, sure, but Nyx felt uncertain. First they lose Weyrwoman Aulea to an untimely death that even Masterhealer Strago couldn’t explain, and then a few moons later they lose Regis’s leadership.

One thing was for sure, Nyx thought grimly, lips pressed in a thin line. Things were going to change in Insomnia Weyr.

* * *

That evening when Nyx went down to the Lower Cavern for dinner, he realized most were probably gathered in the Great Hall. But he preferred to eat here, where it wasn’t so crowded. Here, where he could gauge the pulse of the average weyrfolk over the change in leadership, away from the expected revelry of the dragonriders. Nyx wasn’t much in the mood to celebrate. He wasn’t particularly disappointed that his Ulrith hadn’t caught the queen, but he was sad to lose such admirable leadership.

“Bronze rider Nyx,” a soft voice lilted.

He turned and smiled, seeing junior weyrwoman Lunafreya. “My lady,” he offered her a courtly bow. “Shouldn’t you be in the Great Hall?”

She rest a hand on his arm and walked into the Lower Cavern with him. “Shouldn’t you?” she rejoined with uncharacteristic acerbicness.

Nyx laughed. “You got me there.” He pulled out a chair for her, then sat in the seat across the table from hers, gesturing to a servant with two upraised fingers: dinner for two. “And how was your day spent?”

“At the Healer Hall,” she said absently, offering a smile to the man who brought their food.

“Really?” Nyx poked his fork into a tuber and lifted it but didn’t take a bite. “You had your pick of places for an unexpected freeday, and you went there?” He gestured with the root for emphasis. “Why not a beach, or a Gather, or—”

“My time was well spent,” she said placidly, cutting her meat. “I learned a lot today.”

Nyx quirked a brow, but didn’t gainsay her. Truth be told, it was smart for a gold rider to learn what she could of the healing arts. Historically, they would direct the triage after a Fall, and while their hadn’t been a true Fall in ages - save that aberration - it never hurt to be prepared.

To be a dragonrider was to stand ready to defend Pern, to protect its people as best one could, regardless of the color the dragon one rode.

They passed time between mouthfuls with pleasant small talk, and gradually other riders trickled from the Great Hall to join them. Each wore a disgruntled look and moved stiffly, as if holding in words.

Crowe sat beside Nyx with a shudder, pressing her thigh against his beneath the table. “That was… bracing,” she said diplomatically.

“Unsettling, you mean,” Kamura said tartly, taking a chair next to Lunafreya. She waved away a servant’s offer of food, but accepted a goblet of wine and drank deeply.

“Couldn’t Ulrith fly faster?” Libertus demanded. When Nyx turned his head, he saw all his Wing had gathered around himself and Lunafreya, and all wore similar looks of frustration.

“He… didn’t want to,” Nyx said evasively. “Shards, man, I wanted Regis to win and my dragon knew it. We thought Caeluth had it in the bag but then Izunith dropped in out of nowhere.”

“That can happen,” Pelna said evenly, full of the equanimity that was the hallmark of the best blue riders. “But it is unfortunate.”

“Be that as it may,” Nyx tried to sound authoritative, “Ardyn is our Weyrleader now, and we’d best show him the same respect we showed Regis all these years.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” an insouciant voice purred languidly. Snapping to attention, Nyx saluted the new Weyrleader, shooting a glare down the table so that his wingmates followed suit.

“Congratulations, Weyrleader,” Nyx managed to keep his voice smooth.

“Yes, well,” Ardyn smiled beatifically. He eyed Lunafreya briefly, then cast his eyes over the other assembled riders. “Since your Wing has passed over the celebration in favor of responsible sobriety, you can ride early patrol tomorrow.” He waved his hand in a loose spiral as he spoke; rather than emphasizing the words, it moved in a jarring counterpoint. “You’ll see to it?”

“Count on us, Weyrleader,” Nyx managed not to grind his words at the insult.

“Wonderful!” Arydn’s grin blossomed broadly, eyes glittering with mirth. “Report to me when you’re back.” Without waiting for a reply, he strode back out of the Lower Cavern, presumably making his way back to the merry-making in the Great Hall.

Nyx counted to ten in his head. Ulrith helpfully joined in when Nyx faltered around seven.

“So… our gallant leader,” Crowe muttered.

“We have our orders,” Nyx snapped, in no mood for anything else, even a tamely sarcastic comment from his beloved. Standing, he nodded, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “I’ll see you all in the bowl at dawn.”

As Nyx walked out, he growled nearly as fiercely as a watch-wehr. This was not going to go well for Insomnia Weyr. He tried to calculate how long it would be until Garnet’s Daggeth rose again, and grimaced. Hopefully Ardyn wouldn’t do irreparable damage over the coming years.

* * *

Wearing a serene mask in an effort to hide her displeasure, brown rider Aranea walked through the bowl and made note of all that was happening. It had been a month since the Weryleadership changed, and to say things were different was a massive understatement.

Weyrleader Ardyn preferred a return to ‘tradition’ and thus riders like Aranea, and Crowe, and other women who had the audacity to Impress aught but a gold - no mind that it was the _dragons_ who chose, not the riders - had found themselves relegated to work detail more often than patrols or other rider duties. Aranea was supposed to be at the communal laundry right now in fact, but when she joined the group of weyrfolk they had been appalled that a rider would join in their menial labor.

Since the drudges didn’t want her to take part in the work detail she was assigned to, and she wasn’t welcome to join her Wing for training exercises, Aranea found herself a bit at loose ends. Spying Crowe across the weyrbowl, Aranea decided to join her. If she couldn’t be with her Wing, at least she could pass time with a fellow brown rider.

“What curdled your milk?” Crowe asked, nose wrinkling as she spied Aranea’s sour expression.

“I find I am not permitted to fly with my Wing,” Aranea strove for calm, but knew her timbre edged towards bitterness, “nor welcome in the work detail I was assigned. May I shadow you for the day, senior rider?”

Crowe’s eyes sparkled. “Of course. I’d enjoy the company.” Looping her arm in Aranea’s, she began to cross towards the personnel quarters. “This won’t last,” she muttered conspiratorially. “You and I, we are just as much brown riders as our male comrades. Just because the new Weyrleader would see us waste away in the laundry doesn’t mean others don’t see our worth.”

“At least you’ve rank,” Aranea ground out. “I’m a weyrling. I have no seniority to use to my advantage.”

“You have me,” Crowe said placidly. “And I suspect your Weyrlingmaster would prefer to see you in flight drills than on dish duty. Give it time.”

Aranea wasn’t sure what to say. Even after spending so long in the Weyr, her natural inclination was to be leery of people offering her… well, _anything_ , really. She looked for the hidden strings attached, waited for the other boot to drop.

“You can fly with my Wing today,” Crowe continued breezily as the came to a stop by a crowded table. “We’re down a brown rider; the Weyrleader drafted Titus to the personal Wing he’s creating.”

“All right,” Aranea agreed cautiously. “Wingleader Nyx won’t mind?”

“Wingleader Nyx won’t mind what?” The man in question interjected with a cheerful grin.

“I thought she could fill in for Titus, since her Wing left without her,” Crowe explained.

“Sounds good,” Nyx nodded. “Bring her up to speed over breakfast.”

* * *

When they returned to the Weyr at sunset, Aranea was exhausted. Every muscle ached; muscles she didn’t know she _had_ ached. She had worked harder with Kingsglaive Wing than she’d ever dreamed of in exercises with the weyrlings’ Wing.

“You know, you kept up pretty well,” Crowe complimented her. “And your dragon’s two years old, so you won’t be on the weyrlings’ Wing forever. Once Daggeth lays her eggs, you’ll be assigned to your permanent wing. I’m of a mind to claim you for mine.”

“I’d be honored,” Aranea said genuinely. She hadn’t given much thought to what she’d do once she ‘graduated’, thinking perhaps their class would be kept together to form a new Wing. But with the changes Weyrleader Ardyn was making to assignments, she supposed it made more sense to reassign them to fill in the gaps in the existing roster.

Miyuth crooned and Aranea offered Crowe an apologetic smile. Before she could make her farewells, Crowe waved a hand.

“Tend to him,” she said, “and report to me at breakfast again tomorrow. I’ll speak to Cor about your assignment.”

“Thank you,” Aranea said, feeling a bit gobsmacked. For such a short, slight woman, Crowe was like a force of nature, a brunette whirlwind twisting things around her until they landed exactly as she wished.

But for now, she had a dragon to tend. Grabbing a pot of oil off the mantle, Aranea walked over to where Miyuth was getting comfortable in his hollow. “Don’t fall asleep yet,” she cautioned. “Any spots that need tending?” She rubbed oil into two dry spots - he hadn’t had any patchiness for weeks, and Aranea thought that might mean he’d attained his full growth. That was a relief, for he was massive. Not as large, of course, as the golds or bronzes, but she thought he was one of the biggest browns in Insomnia.

Once he was settled, Aranea stripped down and leapt into her tub. One definite improvement over being assigned her own weyr was that unlike the weyrling barracks, she had her own bathing chamber right in her quarters. She soaked until the soreness was leached from her body, then scrubbed herself clean.

_I should probably eat something_ , she mused, _but I’m so tired._ Toweling at her short silvery-blonde hair, Aranea was pleased she’d never kept it long. It dried much more quickly at this length.

_Eat first,_ Miyuth said sleepily. _You’ll sleep better if you aren’t hungry._

_My wise friend,_ Aranea patted his nose fondly as she walked by. _I’ll be back soon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Consider leaving a kudos/comment with your thoughts - you truly have no idea how much it motivates me. <3


	9. Deception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the ever amazing [aliatori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori)!

Crowe scowled at her fatigued reflection as she got dressed. Since Ardyn’s ascension, he’d assigned her Wing to early morning patrol every day without fail. Since he also assigned them to the shift beginning at first moonrise, the sleep deprivation was starting to get to everyone.

He’d also continued to pick away at their personnel. First Titus, then Luche and Axis. Thankfully Aranea was turning out to be an asset to the Wing, though they had yet to fill the vacancies left by their former blue and green riders. The rest of the weyrlings were due to be reassigned any day now. Aranea had spoken about friends of hers, a blue rider named Prompto and a green rider named Gladio; perhaps they could be recruited and fill in the gaps left by the siphoning of her friends.

But that egg would hatch another day. Crowe grimaced as the axiom reminded her that Daggeth had laid an even thirty eggs over the past three days on the Hatching Sands, including a shining queen egg. With such a feather in his cap, Ardyn was strutting around the Weyr as if he’d laid the eggs himself. At least Izunith had the grace to give credit where due; according to Altiuth, in draconic conversations he always gave glowing praise for his weyrmate and downplayed his own role in siring the clutch.

_Gonna grab a meatroll and klah, meet me at the usual place?_

_Of course._ Altiuth’s voice never failed to soothe her, and it was with something closer to her typical smile on her face that Crowe entered the Lower Caverns in search of her breakfast.

“Crowe!” Her smile became more genuine at the sound of her lover’s voice. After grabbing her food and her morning klah, Crowe went to join him and the rest of their Wing at their usual table. Paying no mind to the catcalls of their wingmates, she kissed Nyx deeply, aware of the way her dragon - and his - crooned in support of the expression of love.

When they parted, she looked into his bright eyes and her smile deepened, forming a dimple in one cheek. “Good morning, hero.”

“Morning, gorgeous,” he replied cheerfully.

They sat and ate and enjoyed bantering with friends who were more like family at this point. Excluding Aranea, who was fitting in more and more each day, and Nyx, who’d held a place in her heart long before they Impressed, Crowe thought of these people as her sisters and brothers. Calm, solid Pelna. Loyal, boisterous Libertus. Sassy, quick-witted Kamura. Quiet, steady Sonitus. Even Regis and Clarus, when they chose to fly with their Wing - which didn’t happen often anymore, with Ardyn assigning them to arguably worse assignments than he gave the Glaive - she loved like uncles.

When Nyx stood, Crowe paid him the same attention as all the others. After all, he was their Wingleader.

“Today, the Weyrleader wishes us to scout over Galahd Hold,” he announced jovially.

Most of the Wing cheered - a common bond shared by their number was Galahdian heritage, and Crowe knew she wasn’t the only one who would see this assignment as a reprieve from the boring routes they’d been on lately.

“We’re to look for Thread, for blackdust, for storm formations - anything out of the ordinary - and report back at the evening meal.”

Crowe quirked a brow. Why so late? Before she could ask the question, he answered it.

“We’re to fly straight rather than go _between_ ,” Nyx said with a grimace. “Eat well, and make sure your dragons get a good drink of water. It’ll take hours to fly there, then we patrol and fly back.”

“Surely we could enjoy the hospitality of Galahd for luncheon,” Libertus argued.

Nyx shook his head. “The Weyrleader’s instructions were clear,” he said wryly. “No touching down. No interacting with Holders. Fly out, patrol, fly back, report.” He plastered a facsimile of his typical broad grin on his handsome face. Crowe thought he may have even fooled the others, but he couldn’t fool her, not after all their years together.

“Let’s move out!”

* * *

Back when she Impressed, Aranea had expressed the thought that she’d never grow tired of flying. Today she could admit it: she was beyond bored, her bottom was sore despite the thick blanket she had folded between herself and the solidness of Miyuth’s neck, and her face hurt from the constant buffeting of cold air. At least her flight goggles protected her eyes, or they’d surely be streaming with tears from windburn inflammation.

 _The sun feels good_ , Miyuth said placidly. _Relax and enjoy. I’m the one doing the work._

 _Cheeky beast!_ Aranea laughed, the sound stolen by the wind. How fortunate she was the day Miyuth’s faceted eyes latched on to her. Her heart felt full to bursting with love for the clever brown dragon. Let others wed and have children, let others excel at crafts.

She was a dragonrider. Miyuth was her partner, her friend, her family; caring for him was her craft.

Lost in joyful reflection, Aranea was startled when she heard a dragon scream out in alarm. Miyuth rolled to the left, and Aranea grabbed on to the flight straps with a heartfelt oath. _What’s happening?_

 _Thread!_ Miyuth roared at the same time as his panicked word sounded in Aranea’s mind.

 _We have no firestone!_ Aranea swore again. _Sharding Weyrleader wanting to ‘save supplies’, sending us on a patrol with no way to fight Thread if we find it._

 _No time to talk_ , Miyuth snapped. _Ulrith says return to the Weyr. We are to go_ between _despite the Weyrleader’s orders. The Weyr must be roused._

Something struck Aranea’s right side and burned so hot that she screamed in agony. She was Threadscored! They had to go _between_ , she had to formulate coordinates for Miyuth, had to get it off, oh _shells_ it hurt so much, it _hurt_ —

* * *

Nyx screamed in anger as Aranea and Miyuth vanished _between_ , knowing it wouldn’t be the last casualty. Ulrith heard from Miyuth that they’d landed at the Healer Hall on the Northern Continent, far from home. With Aranea too injured to give coordinates, Miyuth had decided on their destination. His thoughts raced with trepidation as they flew in a sharp arc around the silvery Threads. Nyx had seen the clump move as if sentient, seen it barrel into the brown rider’s side so hard it would have knocked her clean off her dragon had she not been strapped in. Thread never moved liked that according to the Records.

He had no time to dwell on the oddity now. Thread was still falling, erratic and fast, and the dragons - and their riders - were panicking. The dragons bellowed impotently, lacking the firestone they needed to flame their ancient nemesis. The riders were floundering, unable to focus enough to form a clear image to safely go _between_.

Nyx was Wingleader. It was his job to see them safely home.

He visualized Insomnia Weyr’s recognition point, locking the visual in his mind.

 _Clear image_ , Ulrith confirmed.

_Send it to the others._

_Done._

Nyx lifted his arm, preparing to pump his fist in the signal to go _between_. As he clenched his fingers, he heard a dragon shrill out in agony, and the sound caused the blood to ice in his veins.

He would know Altiuth’s voice anywhere… even distorted with pain as this cry was.

“Crowe!” he screamed, mentally directing his dragon out of formation. He had to get to her, he had to help her, had to save her, had to _do something_.

But as they wheeled about and he met that shocked, brown gaze, Crowe and her dragon blinked between.

A jump between takes the time it takes to cough three times, Nyx reminded himself. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

 _They have arrived at the Healer Hall, with Miyuth_ , Ulrith reported, and Nyx was able to breathe again.

Crowe was down for the count, though. How was he supposed to fight this battle without his other half? How was he supposed to run the Wing without her wisdom? How could he go on?

 _Because you must_ , Ulrith interjected firmly. _They need our guidance. Your orders?_

 _This Thread… falls wrong._ The thought returned as he tried to formulate a plan. Nyx knew little of Thread having never fought it before. But from the Records… this Thread moved as if it had a mind of its own, as if it was intentionally honing in on its targets and taking them out. As he watched, Kamura and Grometh nimbly danced away from a mass of Thread, nearly plowing into Pelna and Kharath as they avoided another. Both dragons backwinged to gain safe distance between them, but in that moment when they were too close to maneuver, the Thread cycloned in as if on a daemonic breeze, and—

 _Grometh and Kharath are gone_ , Ulrith screamed in Nyx’s mind. The dragons raised their voices in the chilling mourning cry of their kind in response to the loss of two of their own.

Nyx’s mind refused to admit what he saw: only Sonitus and Libertus remaining.

Seven had flown out. Only three had escaped injury or death.

 _The Weyr must know_ , he decided. _Send Libertus._

 _I have told Ostiuth_ , Ulrith replied. _Look! Thread is destroying Galahd. We need firestone! I have bespoken Daggeth, but she does not answer me!_

_The queen is silent?_

_Something is blocking her voice_ , Ulrith said in confusion. _I don’t know why I cannot reach her. Daggeth! Answer me!_

Nyx ducked as a tendril of the lethal spore shot directly where his head had been a moment ago. “We have to get out of here. This is too dangerous. Fly to the Weyr!”

 _We can’t leave Thread!_ , his dragon argued. _We have to fight, have to flame!_

As one, Ulrith, Ostiuth, and Belluth roared, turning towards the Thread with teeth bared in a snarling rictus. Nyx could imagine it would be a dazzling sight, were the beasts flaming. But since they weren’t…

 _Ulrith! No!_ He exerted every scrap of will he had over his dragon’s mind, fighting for control. He managed to get Ulrith to fly away, though the bronze fought him with every wing-stroke.

Craning his head around to watch behind him, hoping his friends would follow, tears streamed down Nyx’s face as one after the other his last two wing-mates blinked _between_ and failed to reappear.

 _I cannot hear them_ , Ulrith said before crooning the draconic mourning song.

Nyx stared and stared until his vision was too tear-blurred to make out much beyond the fact that the deadly silver rain had halted. But who knew what damage was being wrought below in Galahd’s fertile land? Thread would consume any organic matter it touched: it rendered good soil inert, it consumed trees and anything made of wood, it ate herdbeasts and people. Steel, stone, and water stopped it’s destructive path, and dragonflame or agenothree sprayed from the queens’ flamethrowers could destroy it.

 _Will the queen hear you yet?_ Nyx asked.

_She will not. Nor will Chereth._

_Try Fleurenth._

_She hears me, but says… things are dangerous in the Weyr! We are not to return!_

_Where should we go?_ Nyx’s mind was reeling; too much had happened in less than a quarter hour. He needed to breathe, to process, to mourn.

_Altiuth and Miyuth say it is safe at the Healer Hall._

That was as good an option as any. Once reunited with the other two survivors of Kingsglaive Wing, they could come up with a plan for what to do next. Nyx took a deep breath and formed the coordinates, visualizing the large rectangular field between Fort Hold, Fort Weyr, Harper Hall, and Healer Hall.

_Take us there, old friend._

* * *

Lunafreya sobbed into her pillow, praying the linen muffled the sound. Fleurenth lifted her brassy voice in a concerned bugle, and Lunafreya hastened to comfort her dragon.

The entire Weyr had felt the deaths of their four lost comrades. It was likely every dragon and rider on all Pern had felt the catastrophic loss. But Lunafreya had felt something far more insidious.

She wasn’t sure what, or how, but something had been controlling the Thread. She knew Thread itself was as mindless as the rain or snow, but this Thread was directed.

Targeted.

Furthermore, after Fleurenth received Ulrith’s panicked message, Lunafreya had asked her dragon to bespeak Daggeth and Chereth. Both attempts had failed.

 _The Weyrleader summons all riders to the Great Hall_ , Fleurenth reported dutifully. _Dragons are to stay in their weyrs._

After sparing a moment to smooth the concerned frown from her face, leaving her delicate features wreathed in a serenity she didn’t think she’d feel ever again, Lunafreya made her way down to the Great Hall. It was oddly silent, which only added to the growing feeling of trepidation she tried to mask behind a careful smile.

Before she’d fully crossed the threshold she heard the oily voice of bronze rider Ardyn - the Weyrleader, she mentally corrected herself - summoning her to the head table.

“Ah, junior weyrwoman Lunafreya!” Ardyn waved a hand expansively to the empty chair beside Celes. “Please join us!”

Lunafreya’s golden brows knit with worry as she noted the blank stares both Garnet and Celes wore. The weyrwomen were typically a vivacious lot, the bond of a golden queen adding confidence as well as perpetual joy. But they just sat there, staring straight ahead.

Something was amiss… but what?

“You’ve all undoubtedly heard the dragons’ keen,” Ardyn imbued his voice with sympathy. Lunafreya hoped she wasn’t the only one who heard the falseness clinging to his words. “The entire Kingsglaive Wing, save those who were weyrbound with other duties, has fallen.” His handsome face twisted into a horrific grimace, gone so quickly that Lunafreya wondered if she had imagined it. “Except for bronze rider Nyx,” Ardyn’s voice went cold as the snowy wastes, “who seems to have gone rogue, as he has not returned to Insomnia.”

Lunafreya wondered why he was lying. She’d felt every dragon die, all the riders had, and she knew that neither Crowe’s Altiuth nor Aranea’s Miyuth had perished.

And why was no one else questioning this? Could the shock of the mass casualty truly had dampened the riders’ cognitive skills this badly? Lunafreya noted the free flowing wine, noted again her fellow queen riders’ blank expressions.

Whatever was going on, she had a duty to the Weyr to figure it out and stop it. And that meant paying attention to Ardyn closely, since the other weyrwomen seemed incapacitated. She tuned back in on his speech, struggling to keep her face smooth and not show the anger she felt at his deception.

“Thread is back, and a very real menace,” Ardyn continued. “From now on, no patrol will go without firestone. We must be able and ready to defend ourselves at any time.”

Nods flowed around the Hall like an ocean wave, and Lunafreya could find naught to disagree with in the Weyrleader’s closing statements. If today’s patrol had been given firestone, perhaps more than three would have survived.

Despite her best efforts to pay attention, as Ardyn’s words continued in flowery praise of all dragonkind and their riders, Lunafreya’s mind wandered. Where had Nyx and the others gone? She knew it wasn’t safe for them to do so, but wished they could have returned to the Weyr to expose the Weyrleader’s treachery.

 _Fleurenth? Are you awake?_ she thought quietly, though none should be able to intercept the private communication she shared with her dragon.

 _Yes_ , Fleurenth responded drowsily. _I am now._

_Can you reach Ulrith? Or Miyuth, or Altiuth?_

Several beats of silence. _I found them. They have sought refuge on a small island near Ista. They first went to the Healer Hall to get their wounds treated. The Masterhealer sent them to a smaller Healer outpost to convalesce._

 _Well done, my heart!_ Lunafreya breathed deeply, making sure her elation did not show on her face. _If we can get away tomorrow, we will meet with them. Tell Ulrith._

 _I have told him. Can I go back to sleep now?_ the gold asked querulously.

 _Get your rest, my darling._ Lunafreya imbued her mental words with a smile. _Tomorrow will be a busy day._

Lunafreya finished her food and gave the appearance of listening to Ardyn speak. When the Weyrleader caught her off guard, asking her to speak to the assembled riders - wasn’t that Garnet’s place, as Senior Weyrwoman? - she rose gracefully and called on her years of training to be a Lady Holder, combined with what she had learned as a junior weyrwoman, to find the right words.

“Today we have suffered a most grievous loss,” she began, allowing all to see the tears that beaded at the corners of sylleblossom blue eyes, “but we cannot allow it to quell us. As the Weyrleader has commanded, all should carry firestone with them at all times, in case of further Thread incursions. Furthermore, none should go alone,” she glanced at Ardyn, realizing she was overstepping her place, and was relieved when he nodded agreement. “There is safety in numbers. The Weyr looks after its own!”

“We will learn from this, and we will prosper,” Lunafreya said softly, trying to convince herself as well as the others. “And when the Weyr prospers, all Pern prospers.” Lifting her glass - untouched, until now - she held it aloft in salute. “To those who have gone _between_!”

“May they fly safely,” the gathered riders and weyrfolk answered thunderously, before all drained their glasses.

Lunafreya blamed that hastily consumed glass of Benden white for the way her vision blurred as she left the Great Hall, trying to find the proper hallway to her weyr where Fleurenth waited for her.

“Allow me to assist, my lady,” a baritone murmured in her ear, causing Lunafreya to startle noticeably. She turned and recognized a brown rider who had Impressed in the same clutch as she.

“Thank you, Ignis,” she said quietly, laying her hand on the offered arm. “As embarrassing as it is to admit, the wine hit me harder than expected.”

“After all the deaths today,” Ignis temporized, “we could all use the escape offered by drink.”

In silence they made their way down the labyrinthine halls until approaching the queens’ quarters.

“May I come in?” Ignis surprised Lunafreya with her question, so much so that she nodded her assent without thought.

Once they were inside and the door shut behind them, Ignis spoke without preamble. “I’m not certain you’ve heard the news, as I’ve only recently come clean to the Weyrlingmaster,” a pause as he grimaced, and Lunafreya wondered what secret he’d hidden to incur Cor’s ire, “but I can hear all dragons.”

Lunafreya was struck dumb by his pronouncement. This brown rider could hear all dragons? Why, that was a talent nearly unheard of... and usually one bequeathed to gold riders, though some few men had boasted of the skill over the Turns.

“And I heard your conversation with Fleurenth at the dinner,” Ignis continued. “Well, Fleurenth’s part of it, but that was enough. May I help? Aranea is a friend, and I’ll admit I’m relieved to know that she survived.”

Gathering her thoughts, for it would do no good for her to speak without thinking, Lunafreya nodded decisively. “I could use the aid. My thanks.” Another pause. “Know you any others we could trust?”

“A few more from our Hatching,” Ignis admitted. “Shall I bring them to you?”

Her mind whirred like a dragon’s multifaceted eyes, spinning so fast she could hardly keep up. “Not yet. I need to think.” She smiled, hoping to ease the disappointment painted clearly on his face. “But if you can get away, I could use your help tomorrow.”

“To meet with the survivors?” Ignis adjusted his glasses as he spoke, his words not truly a question since he had overheard Fleurenth. “And what excuse shall we give for a brown weryling to dance attendance on a queen?”

“You’re harper trained. I wish to see the Harper Hall,” Lunafreya declared, striking an arrogant pose, imbued with all the nobility bred into her over generations at Tenebrae Hold.

“That might work,” Ignis said. “I’ll speak to Cor.”

“If he gives you trouble, send him to me,” Lunafreya suggested. “Even junior weyrwomen outrank Weyrlingmasters.”

“Hmm,” Ignis made a noncommittal noise, and Lunafreya’s cheeks dimpled. Cor was tough - even her Fleurenth obeyed his Leonith, as they had trained her in part before Garnet took over - but she felt she was up to task if need be. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that; the dragonriders learned early on to obey the queen dragons, and by extension, the Weyrwomen who rode them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I greatly appreciate your kudos and comments! <3


	10. Understanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some minor violence in this chapter (dragons hunting their prey), but I don't get too graphic.
> 
> Beta'd by the ever-amazing [aliatori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori)!

Ignis wasted no time the next morning in speaking to those few he thought he could trust. Granted, Aranea was the only weyrling he’d grown close to, but some others were included on the periphery of their friendship: bronze rider Noctis, blue rider Prompto, and green rider Gladio. It was to these three that Ignis spoke in whispered tones, verdant gaze darting frequently towards the entryway to make sure none were coming who could overhear.

“Lunafreya and I will go to find them today,” he said quietly. “Then we shall figure out our next move.” He frowned, lips tight. “Something isn’t right. Neither of us - nor Nyx’s dragon - can reach the other queens. Ardyn must have done something… but what?”

“We’ll find out,” Prompto promised, his voice unexpectedly fierce. “This Weyr is the first place I’ve been able to truly call home… I won’t let anyone take that away from me.”

“Well said,” Noctis commented, clapping the blue rider on the shoulder.

Gladio snorted. “What do you think we can do against a Weyrleader?” he said scornfully, his face twisted with disbelief. “A handful of weyrlings against seasoned riders?”

“Gladio,” Noctis said in shock, frowning at his best friend. “Wh—”

Gladio stood, staring down at them haughtily. “I’ll be in my weyr. Amicitiath needs me.”

As he strode off, a languid sway to his muscular body, Ignis couldn’t help but stare, riveted by the liquid grace of Gladio’s every step.

“Hey,” Prompto nudged him, “pay attention.”

“His green’s gonna rise,” Noctis predicted. “That’s the only explanation for such uncharacteristic behavior.”

Ah, yes. Mating flights. Ignis had read about them, about how the riders’ wills were subverted by their dragons, how the emotions of their bonded beasts overwhelmed the riders’ common sense. It was said that every person within a certain radius would be affected, and that weyrfolk looked forward to such sensuous occurrences with excitement, while the more staid Holders and crafters tended to be leery.

Ignis was no stranger to physical love, but he still wondered with trepidation what it would be like to be taken over by Spectoth’s lust.

“We’d better eat while we can,” Noctis suggested. “Everything’s gonna be chaos soon. Even if it’s just a green’s flight, it will still be… intense.”

Prompto’s violet eyes were wide; holder bred, he’d never experienced a flight, and probably knew less than Ignis. “What should we do?”

“Unless we want to let our dragons try and fly her? We should clear out of here.” Noctis stood. “I’ll get some food. We can go to the lake.” He commanded easily, as would be expected of a bronze rider.

“I’m staying,” Ignis heard himself say. In the distance, he heard his dragon bugle approval and Ignis caught the image of the untried brown on their weyr’s ledge, wings outspread as he screamed his challenge to the sun.

“As you wish,” Noctis muttered, grabbing Prompto’s arm. “Let’s go.”

Ignis decided to go to his dragon, to his weyr. He’d no sooner gotten there than the mighty beast roared and took off, flying to the Feeding Grounds and landing on a herdbeast with exacting precision.

_Blood only!_ Ignis implored him, and after a grumble, Spectoth listened, draining the cow dry.

Ignis was aware of his eyes going unfocused, the sights before him blurring. He was becoming one with his bonded mate, the two minds forming one whole. His earlier fears had vanished - this was a wonderful feeling, and one he’d relish in memory. In this moment, he and his dragon were in perfect accord, and peace enshrouded Ignis even as Spectoth landed on a second animal.

They would fly Amicitath.

* * *

A tumultuous roil of emotion woke Gladio, and he fell out of bed in his confusion. When had he gotten back in bed? Hadn’t he just been at breakfast with his friends? Looking to his dragon’s hollow, his eyebrows lowered in consternation to see it empty. Where was she?

Tugging on a pair of breeches - hadn’t he been dressed? - but not bothering to tie them, Gladio bounded out onto the weyr ledge where he found Amicitath screaming discordantly into the sky.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded, careful hands checking her neck, her wing-joints, for anything that could be causing her the sort of pain eliciting those cries. Through their mental link he felt anguish, confusion, and hunger, _so_ much hunger.

And, woven throughout it all - lust.

“By the Egg of Faranth,” Gladio swore. “It’s time, isn’t it? You’re gonna rise today.”

Amicitath regarded him, her whirring eyes yellow flecked with orange and red, her mind unable to form words her human partner could understand.

Gladio hopped onto her back, not bothering to finish dressing or to grab his riding harness. It would be a short flight, and he knew his dragon would never drop him. When they landed at the Feeding Grounds, Gladio hopped off and stood back on the ledge designated for those the dragons looked to. “Blood your kill,” he said firmly, remembering the Weyrlingmaster’s instructions. “Blood only.”

He saw Amicitath dart her head from side to side in irritation, tongue flitting out to taste the air and scent the herdbeasts. With another shrill scream, the dragon dove aloft just high enough to allow her downward strike, grasping her chosen prey and fluttering to land a few paces away, tearing its belly open with her teeth.

“Blood!” Gladio shouted. Shards, it was hard to exert the control his dragon needed from him, the rational human side of their symbiotic relationship. His mind was nearly as gone as his dragon’s, and he thanked his lucky stars that as a male, he’d never had a chance at Impressing an even more tempestuous gold.

Amicitath lifted her bloody muzzle and roared in Gladio’s direction, but he saw that she obeyed, could hear the sickening slurp of her draining the carcass of its blood before she tossed it aside negligently and looked for another.

Momentarily distracted by a hand on his broad shoulder, Gladio turned to look at the man who had joined him. Weyrlingmaster Cor’s eyes were kind as they regarded the emotional green rider.

“Come along, lad,” Cor said. “Let’s get you back to your weyr. She knows what to do.”

“No, I need to stay with her!” Gladio pushed against Cor’s hold, and felt the strong hands of another rider grab his other arm. Turning to look, he quelled under the fierce stare of his father, Flightleader Clarus.

“Listen to the Weyrlingmaster, son,” Clarus said softly, his tone soothing and grounding to Gladio’s ears. “Go with him now. I’m leaving the Weyr, but I will see you soon.”

“Yes, sir,” Gladio stammered, manners asserting themselves despite his growing confusion. He let Cor lead him up the long, winding stairs to his assigned quarters, and growled when he saw all the men - and a few women - clustered within, all the dragons hovering without.

Of course. While greens rose often, there were still far more male dragons than female, and any not proscribed - such as Clarus, for obvious reasons - would try their luck on Amicitath’s first flight. As the young green hadn’t shown any preference, Gladio had no idea what to expect other than what promised to be the most exhilarating sexual experience of his life.

Gladio glared at the assembled riders, not even recognizing half of them. Some were from his weryling class, and he could almost welcome their presence compared to that of the men decades older than him, bronze riders forever denied the embrace of a queen, seeking to at least master a green before their time to go _between_ to death.

As he looked at those graybeards, Gladio felt his face twist in a taunting smirk. He sauntered closer to where the older men huddled, a group apart from the rest, and when Gladio stood before them he rested a fist on one out-cocked hip and laughed. “You, whose bronze dragons are so green with age they nearly match my own - you think to catch me? Really?” His laugh rose in pitch and volume, as he turned towards the scattered younger riders, focusing on one after the other, his amber eyes glinting with challenge.

“And you, girls and boys just off the apron strings, can your dragons even fly high enough to reach me?” The walls between Gladio the man and Amicitath the dragon had fallen away; in this, they were now one.

All could hear the raucous cry as Amicitath sprang skyward. It was mirrored by Gladio’s strident shout.

He saw the people closing in and he flailed out with both arms in subconscious imitation of the way his dragon’s wings beat while she outdistanced her suitors, an emerald beacon shooting across the midsummer sky.

Gladio saw through her eyes, saw the panorama of clouds and sun, felt the wind blowing on her - _their_ \- body. Could hear the trumpeting cries of the blues, browns, and bronzes who pursued them.

One by one, they watched dragons fall away in exhaustion, until only a few remained. Bronzes all, save for one clever blue, and one steady brown. It was unusual for one of the smaller colors to last this long, but this blue looked to have a slightly wider wingspan, seemed to have the intelligence to find the best currents to ride, saving his energy for the acrobatic dives necessary to capture a green.

And then the being that was Gladio and Amicitath lost their last shred of semi-rational thought as a larger dragon’s neck twined with theirs, and the mating flight truly began.

* * *

The next morning, Gladio awoke to a soreness in his entire body that he hadn’t expected. As flashes of the turbulent flight came back to him, his full lips curled in a satisfied smirk. He - and his dragon - had certainly given as good as they’d gotten. He rolled over, curious to see who had emerged victorious. All that his weary mind supplied was the dragon had been brown.

Amber eyes shot wide in surprise seeing the journeyman harper turned dragonrider fast asleep in his bed.

The man looked much more approachable asleep, Gladio decided. And from the way his body ached, they’d fit together well enough. Amicitath’s good morning warble caught his attention and he hastened to her, not bothering with getting dressed.

_Are you okay?_ Gladio asked her, running his hands over her wedge shaped head and scratching her eye ridges just the way she liked it.

_I’m the fastest green on Pern!_ Amicitath boasted, preening one wing coquettishly. Gladio noticed that brown Spectoth was crowded onto the ledge at her side when he rumbled agreement with Amicitath’s words. _That blue was very clever, but too showy. The bronzes were insufferable!_

Gladio couldn’t disagree with her. He chuckled as she continued to sing her own praises.

_I like Spectoth. He is a worthy mate_ , she declared. _And I am hungry._

“Go on, then,” Gladio said aloud, for he had heard the rustling bedclothes behind him. “I’ll catch you up.”

He turned and walked to greet his companion, and found the harper looking more vulnerable than Gladio recalled ever seeing him before. Those stunning green eyes were wide, still blurred with sleep as Ignis stretched and yawned.

“Are you all right?” Considerate words shaped in a Tenebraean accent mirrored Gladio’s question to his dragon, and it made him smile again.

“I’m great,” he announced. “You?”

“Tired,” Ignis admitted. “Desperate for some klah.”

“Well, get dressed,” Gladio encouraged, “and we’ll go get some!”

* * *

Lunafreya was pleased by the timing of Amicitath’s flight. The day after a mating flight - even a green’s, to say nothing of the after effect of a gold’s - the Weyr was on freeday, many riders and weyrfolk alike nursing hangovers or just short on sleep. No one questioned her when she left with Fleuruenth directly after her morning meal. They went to the lake, her dragon having spoken to Ignis to tell him to gather the others and meet them there.

It was with a small chagrined blush that Lunafreya dismounted, realizing she was the last to arrive.

_They should wait for me. I am the queen!_ Fleurenth declared with no shortage of self-importance. Lunafreya giggled, and then, seeing from Ignis’s amused face he’d overheard the comment, her giggle grew into a belly laugh.

“What’s so funny?” the blue rider asked cheerfully. Prompto, Lunafreya reminded herself.

“It’s of no import.” She managed to stop chuckling. “I wanted to thank you all for coming. Has Ignis filled you in?”

“He did, but we already knew something was up,” Gladio said.

“Yeah,” Noctis interjected. “I want to know what’s going on. This isn’t good for Insomnia.”

“Indeed,” Ignis agreed. “We need to sort out why Nyx’s dragon was unable to reach the queens… save Fleurenth here. And why the Weyrleader insisted on saying his entire Wing had perished when that’s not true.”

“Nyx’s Ulrith gave Fleurenth a clear visual,” Lunafreya said. “I believe the island is off the east coast of Ista.” She smiled over her shoulder at the large gold dragon. “Would you share the coordinates with the others, love?”

One by one, she watched the men’s eyes blur as their dragons communicated the information with them.

“I recognize it,” Noctis said. “It’s an island used as a retreat for wounded dragons. There’s a small Healer Hall there, and usually an Istan watch dragon. It’s the perfect place to hide,” he said in admiration, “since none go there unless necessary, lest they disturb the recovery of the injured.”

“Is it a clear enough image?” Lunafreya asked. There’d be time to admire Nyx’s fleetness of thought later. She was impatient to join up with him and his surviving riders, to form their plan.

After all the other riders nodded, Lunafreya mounted her dragon. Pumping her fist in the time honored signal, she smiled when all the dragons rose in unison. Three beats of massive wings later, and they went _between_ in a vee formation. When they emerged, it was into the balmy Istan air, and they circled down to land on an empty beach.

A man dressed in healer’s robes hastened to greet them. “You must be here for the others,” he said briskly. “Well, come along!” Not waiting for an answer, he spun about and stalked towards a small settlement.

Lunafreya followed with haste, sending a thought to her partner to enjoy the sun and sand. Entering the largest of the stone buildings - barely big enough for a family of six, to her mind, tiny compared to Tenebrae Hold - she was met by Nyx’s grinning face, book-ended by the more serious expressions of Aranea and Crowe.

Aranea burst into relieved laughter. “You’re okay?” she asked, looking at Ignis.

He smirked. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? After all, you’re the one who is supposed to be dead.”

Crowe’s face darkened. “We’d’ve been goners if not for Kamura’s warning shout. Barely had time to blink _between_ before…” she trailed off, blinking back tears.

Lunafreya reached for Crowe and gathered her into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry about your wingmates...your friends.”

“We can mourn later,” Crowe said briskly, squeezing Lunafreya and then stepping back. “There’s a sitting room in the back. We can talk there.”

The newcomers followed the remnants of Kingsglaive Wing, and they all dragged chairs together around a long, low table containing a pitcher of klah and a collection of mugs. Serving themselves, no one seemed willing to start the necessary conversation. Or perhaps no one knew where to begin.

“I think we should gather more information before doing anything,” Noctis’s tenor rang with sincerity, and Lunafreya found herself riveted by the way his cerulean eyes flashed with determination. “The entire Weyr has felt… _off_ … since Ardyn became Weyrleader.” He took a sip of klah. “He said no more patrols will go without firestone. Let’s see if that’s true. He claimed that Aranea and Crowe were dead. Let’s try to find out why.”

“And he declared Nyx a traitor,” Lunafreya said softly, eyes straying from the younger bronze rider to the older.

“I’ve been called worse by better,” Nyx said brashly, flashing a grin that melted away like snow in the sun. His voice was all seriousness when he spoke again. “My reputation isn’t what’s important here. We need to figure out how he silenced the other queens, why it didn’t work on Fleurenth, why he’s calling these two dead, and why he marked me as outcast.”

“That’s… quite a lot,” Ignis said.

“So we go back. And we observe.” Gladio shrugged. “We gotta act like nothing is different. Ignis and I can get away with a little bit of ‘off’ behavior, given our dragons just…”

The smile shared by the two riders made Lunafreya’s heart sing with joy, even as she averted her eyes, not wishing to infringe on their newfound intimacy.

“Be that as it may, we all must keep our thoughts to ourselves, and comport ourselves as we always do,” Ignis said smoothly, looking away from Gladio and pinning his verdant gaze on Prompto and Noctis.

Noctis nodded, and Prompto surprised them all by laughing bitterly.

“I’ve spent my whole life going unnoticed,” he explained. “I’m sure that won’t change now.”

“It already has,” Aranea said firmly, “the day your Argentamth noticed you.”

Prompto smiled at her shyly, and she winked at him. Lunafreya found herself grinning at the byplay, her expression blossoming more broadly as she looked around at her companions.

Nyx. Crowe. Prompto. Aranea. Noctis. Gladio. Ignis.

They would need more allies… but this was a good start.

A person detached herself from the shadows in one corner, prompting Nyx to swear. She approached the group, holding both her hands up in the universal sign of peace.

“Elendira, journeyman harper,” she said by way of introduction. “It sounds like you could use some information.”

“What know you of the happenings in Insomnia Weyr?” Ignis asked the member of his former craft icily.

“Not much,” she admitted cheerfully. “But I _can_ tell you more about Threadfall on Pern.”

Lunafreya’s eyes widened. Had they an ancient history scholar in their midst? To be sure, the Weyrs had tried to preserve fighting lore, but much had undoubtedly been lost through disuse.

“Tell us,” Noctis said, voice ringing with command.

“Do you know how to eradicate burrows?” Elendira began. “You need a flamethrower… though that is a bit of a misnomer. The device shoots liquid agenothree which destroys Thread on contact…”

* * *

When they returned to Insomnia, Prompto felt as tired as if he had been hauling firestone stacks again. And just from talking!

_And listening_ , his dragon helpfully put in.

_Very true!_ Prompto agreed. He changed into his wherhide flying gear quickly and made his way down to the Lower Caverns. Maybe he could grab a meatroll on his way to the training field. They’d had klah aplenty, but nothing to eat since breakfast. After successfully grabbing some lunch, he stuffed it in his mouth as he jogged to the south exit, the one which opened directly onto the field.

Prompto winced when he saw that Weyrlingmaster Cor and every weryling save himself were already gathered there.

“I know it’s a rest day,” Cor began, “but we don’t have time to rest.” He began to pace before the assembled riders, speaking clearly enough to be heard by all, even though he kept his volume moderate. “Thread has returned, and you’ll all be assigned to your permanent Wings soon.” He leveled a stern look, meeting each pair of eyes in turn. Prompto was proud that he didn’t flinch when that flinty stare latched onto him.

“We’re going to drill recognition points… for Southern Continent,” Cor announced. “Call your dragons, and mount up. We’re not stopping until we’ve made a jump to each and every set of standard coordinates and you all can give me back a perfectly clear image.”

Prompto wasn’t the only one who groaned. It was gonna be a long afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Gladio's dragon rising was the first scene of this fic I wrote. I had posted the original, unedited version on Tumblr to gauge interest before I dove into this fic!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I appreciate your kudos & comments more than I can say! <3


	11. Scourge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TGIF! Beta'd by the ever-amazing [aliatori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori)!

Lunafreya came out of a deep sleep the sound of dragon’s humming. Of course! It had been five weeks. Daggeth’s eggs were ready to hatch!

She hastily dressed and bound back her unkempt hair, more concerned with being on time than looking pristine. Sending a thought to Fleurenth, she was surprised at her dragon’s answer.

_I’m already there,_ Fleurenth sounded downright smug. _Not all of us sleep through such things._

_Spiteful beast!_ Lunafreya said, but there was no heat in her words, just affection. When she made it to the Hatching Sands, she was relieved to see the stands were mostly empty. She remembered that when she had Impressed, the Hatching had started during the dark hours, too. A joyous smile lit up her fine-boned features as she drank in the memory of that wondrous day, that day that had changed her life forever.

_I love you, too,_ Fleurenth said.

“Lunafreya!” Looking up, the junior weyrwoman found the face to go with the voice. She climbed the stands to sit beside Ignis, waving at Prompto and Noctis as she passed them. Looking up farther still, she found Gladio and his sister, both his and Noctis’s fathers sitting nearby. Lunafreya took the seat next to Ignis, grateful for the warm press of the man’s leg against hers in the chill of the night.

Despite how closely they huddled for warmth, none spoke; everyone’s attention was riveted on the eggs, rocking with increasing speed and force on the Hatching Sands. Lunafreya wasn’t personally acquainted with any of the candidates - and she’d attended several of these auspicious days in her years at Insomnia Weyr - but she was excited all the same, leaning forward on the edge of her seat as she waited to see who would Impress.

An egg cracked, the shell falling neatly in two halves - a good omen at the start of a Hatching. As Lunafreya watched, a small green head emerged, creeling with hunger and longing as it swung around, seeking. Escaping from the broken shell, it tottered on shaky legs straight up to a sandy-haired lad, and just like that, Impression was made.

Lunafreya was aware her face was wreathed in a love-struck smile, but she refused to feel any shame over how dearly she cared for Fleurenth, how fondly she looked back upon the memory of their bonding. Nor would she ever be expected to, here in the Weyr. She tore her eyes away from the sands to scan the crowd and see many a teary-eyed, smiling rider.

It was over all too soon, the newly bonded pairs led off for the dragonets’ first meal. Lunafreya gave her apologies to her friends and hastened to the Great Hall. Granted, she was junior weyrwoman only, but Garnet could probably use help with congratulating the families of the new riders, offering condolences to those who did not Impress, and the myriad other little details that couldn’t be seen to until the last minute due to the nature of Hatchings being unschedulable.

She pressed her way through the crowds with murmured apologies but a firm step. She _was_ a queen rider, after all, and deserving of the courtesies of her rank. She found Celes before she found Garnet, and tapped the golden haired woman’s bicep to get her attention.

Celes turned blank gray-blue eyes on Lunafreya. She shuddered when Celes seemed to come to life as if she’d been sleeping up until now. “Yes?”

“Have you seen Garnet?” Lunafreya asked slowly, studying the older woman.

“No,” Celes shook her head. “She’s probably still with Daggeth.” Thus said, Celes fell back into her typical state these past sevendays - still, silent, staring without seeming to see.

There was no time to figure it out now. Lunafreya made her way out to the Hatching Sands in search of Garnet. Spying her leaning against the great golden bulk of her dragon, Lunafreya called out and waved. She sped across the sands, wondering if Garnet needed some assistance. Perhaps her dragon wasn’t ready to leave the scattered eggshells, nor the memories of when her clutch was all safe and warm, only a wingtip away from where she herself rested.

A blinding light surprised Lunafreya, and she threw a hand before her face. It was too early for sunrise; what on Pern caused that brilliant flash?

And then she staggered and cried out, even as Fleurenth and all the other dragons keened a second before Daggeth shrieked and went _between_ from where she lay on the sands, not even bothering to take off in her haste.

Standing and brushing the sand off her pants, Lunafreya resumed running across the Hatching Grounds. But she already knew what she’d find.

No one was there. Garnet and Daggeth had gone _between_ in death.

Peering closely about the lair Daggeth had used these past weeks, Lunafreya frowned. Was that blood smeared on the rock?

A dragon only went _between_ to their death if their rider was already dead. How had Garnet died so quickly? So quietly?

This was all very strange. Lunafreya hurried back to the Lower Caverns, knowing that her fellow riders would need her support. Losing two Weyrwoman in such a short span of time… everyone would be feeling the sorrow deeply.

Blinking back tears, Lunafreya resolved to show nothing but strength now. She would mourn later, in the privacy of her weyr. Her mentor - the first friend she’d made in Insomnia - would be sorely missed.

* * *

For once in Noctis’s life, he was _thrilled_ to be peeling tubers. After the excitement of being woken up before the sun for the Hatching followed by the crushing loss of another Weyrwoman, he would much rather be doing weyrling chores in the Lower Caverns than sent out on patrol. His last day as a weyrling, too - tomorrow their new Wing assignments would be posted. There weren’t many Wings with openings. The Weyrleader had opted to disband Kingsglaive Wing, since the only surviving riders were ones he’d already drafted - as well as Regis and Clarus. Those two riders, Ardyn hadn’t chosen to reassign. He instead kept sending them on solo missions, and Noctis chafed at the blow to Regis’s former position. He’d gone from Weyrleader to a messenger, by the egg of Faranth! But, since his father simply smiled and moved about his duties graciously, Noctis did his best to mirror his father’s good attitude.

Maybe the Red Wings. Noctis thought that could be an interesting challenge. Wingleader Cecil was said to run a tight ship, but some of his riders were pretty fun at Gatherings. Blue rider Setzer and green rider Daryl, for example. Thinking of his friends still in Insomnia, Noctis thought all four of them might be assigned there - since between them they numbered one of each fighting dragon color.

With a frown, he thought of Nyx, Aranea, and Crowe, still on the little refuge island off of Ista’s coast. Despite how many sevendays had passed, Noctis and the others hadn’t learned anything new. The tragic loss of Garnet and Daggeth was also inexplicable, and Noctis had the feeling all of these strange events were related… perhaps even his mother’s death, though that had happened months ago. And he hadn’t been able to confer with Lunafreya in quite some time. Noctis was grateful for Ignis’s ability to speak directly with Fleurenth; he had served as their messenger, and so far the gold rider counselled patience. Watch. Listen. Learn.

“You’re peeling away all the tuber, rider,” Headman Takka chided Noctis as he walked by. “Just take off the skin so there’s something left to eat, yeah?”

“Sorry,” Noctis said, paying more attention to his work. After all, being busy kept him from thinking too much about yesterday’s loss. The tears that fell into the starchy roots wouldn’t hurt them.

After another hour, the tubers had all been peeled, and Noctis was released to go see to his dragon with orders to report back and help wash up after the midday meal. He met up with Prompto on the walk to his weyr and was glad for the company.

“I know it’s important,” Prompto said, “and I know I’ve been doing it for Turns, but _shells_ am I tired of hauling firestone!” Noctis heard the forced cheer in his friend’s voice, saw the redness rimming his eyes, and decided to go along with the charade of normalcy for both their sakes.

“It’s hard work,” Noctis sympathized, “but we need firestone at the ready.”

“I know,” Prompto sighed. “Trade after lunch?”

Noctis grimaced. “Remember what happened the last time we traded work details?” Weyrlingmaster Cor had decided that since they both apparently wanted to do both jobs, they both would the next day. It had not been an experience Noctis wished to repeat, especially this close to being officially ‘graduated’ from his weyrling status.

“Yeah,” Prompto shuddered. “Good point!”

“Need to see to Argentamth?”

“He’s sleeping,” Prompto said with a tender smile. “Though how that rascal sleeps so much now that he’s reached his full growth, I’ll never know.”

“Come help me oil Lucith,” Noctis grinned, “I don’t think he’ll ever stop growing.” In truth, Noctis thought his dragon had reached his full adult size a few weeks back. As he walked into his weyr side by side with his friend, he was amazed anew at the fact that he was a dragonrider. Did it ever get old? Would he ever take it for granted?

He hoped not.

The two of them chattered as they looked for flaky patches on Lucith’s skin. They found none, but treated the massive bronze to some attention anyway, scratching all the places he liked best. Just as the huge beast was settling down into a nap again, his mental touch going fuzzy and soft in Noctis’s mind, disaster struck.

_Thread!_ Lucith trumpeted a battle-cry, clamoring out of his hollow and going to the ledge.

_Where?_ Noctis was peripherally aware of Prompto dashing out - presumably to his own weyr, to his own dragon - as he pulled on his riding jacket and helmet.

_Landing, Southern Continent,_ Lucith reported. _Izunith says we are to stay here._ Lucith’s klaxon cry was rebellious now. _But someone must reinforce Caeluth and Crailath!_

Noctis staggered at the confirmation that Thread was falling on his father at that very moment. Scorch Ardyn, sending out his father and Clarus without a full Wing for backup!

He sprinted down to the Lower Caverns, and the din of dozens of voices confirmed he wasn’t the first one there. Noctis skidded to a halt by the weyrlings’ table, looking to the Weyrlingmaster for orders. He saw Cor up at the Weryleader’s table, red in the face as he screamed inches away from Ardyn. The weyrwomen both sat meekly, though Noctis saw the spots of color in Lunafreya’s cheeks that let him know her demeanor was an act. It was a pity they hadn’t learned more before Garnet’s untimely demise; Noctis suspected foul play, though it be anathema for one rider to kill another. Especially a queen rider.

A loud crack stole Noctis’s attention away from his inspection of Celes and Lunafreya. He gasped in shock when he realized the source: Cor had struck Ardyn. Cor _hit_ the Weyrleader.

Duels weren’t unheard of… but riders didn’t strike riders in anger. It just wasn’t done. Those the dragons bonded to had to be above such petty displays, for a simple fight could end in death not only for a rider, but also their dragon.

“Get out!” Ardyn’s sibilant hiss was heard easily in the now silent chamber.

Cor stood his ground, glaring defiantly at the Weyrleader. “If I leave,” he growled, “it will be with a full Flight of dragons to go and save my friends.”

“You go, if you’re so worried,” Ardyn drawled insouciantly. “I’m sure two such venerable riders are well able to protect themselves.”

After staring at the Weyrleader for a protracted, tense moment, Cor spun about on his heel and strode out with a shout, “Weyrlings! Meet me in the Gather field.”

Noctis’s heart hammered in his chest. Surprisingly, Ardyn didn’t countermand Cor’s order. He would get the chance to help his father.

He ran so fast he may as well have gone _between_. Lucith was ready for him, and Noctis had to force himself to slow down and take the proper care with buckling on the safety harness. He mounted up, strapped himself in, and barely had time to form a thought before Lucith took off. Noctis saw blue, green, and brown, and knew his friends all answered the call.

The other weyrlings were probably too scared. Noctis could understand that.

But with his father’s and Clarus’s lives on the line, there was never any question of if Noctis would obey.

He was a dragonrider. He would fight Thread!

* * *

When they emerged from _between_ , Gladio understood why Cor had their dragons chew firestone before transferring. Thread fell in a heavy, twisting rain, the silver strands almost deceptively beautiful as they caught the light. Gladio could see two bronze dragons valiantly blinking between points, attempting to flame as much Thread as possible - though he could also see how much was falling to land on the lush land below. At least Southern had always had reliable grub protection - while surface structures and crops might be taken out, the underlying soil should survive. It was a pity the grubs had resisted transplant to the Northern and Western continents.

Cor’s Leonith relayed orders to the others, and Gladio found himself in the thick of battle against Pern’s deadliest menace.

_There!_ he shouted, though in truth it was not necessary. Draconic instinct took over; Amicitath dove at her nemesis with a roar. She flamed a writhing clump of Thread, and winged her way back into formation. With only five of them, it wasn’t a large vee, but Gladio and Amicitath had been drilled on the importance of staying in formation too much to stay out of it for long.

Gladio’s focus narrowed to himself and his dragon, to the deadly falling Threads. He was peripherally aware of the other dragons flaming all around him but didn’t pay them much mind. During battle, any orders would be telepathically sent from one dragon to another, so he didn’t need to watch Cor for signals.

His awareness was drawn to his companions with alacrity when a dragon bugled in pain, nearly eclipsing his rider’s cry completely. Looking over, Gladio would have lunged forward ineffectually if not for the riding harness buckling him into place. As it was, he stretched out his hands and screamed, “ _No!_ ”

The Thread-engulfed bronze dragon and his rider blinked _between_ , and did not return.

Gladio’s father was no more.

He blinked away the tears streaming from shocked amber eyes, for the fight was not yet over. With a scream mirrored by his dragon’s bellow, Gladio dove out of formation, Amicitath scorching away the remnants of the Thread cluster that had killed Clarus and Crailath.

_Leonith says we must go back in formation,_ Amicitath said sullenly.

_Let’s go._ Gladio narrowed his eyes, and scanned above them. A few more Threads wound their way closer, but it seemed the heart of the Fall was past.

Another human yelp paired with a draconic cry, and Gladio darted a look over just in time to see the former Weyrleader disappear _between_. He reappeared a heartbeat later, though, batting away frozen Thread from his shoulder with a wince.

“Weyrlings!” Cor bellowed loudly enough to be heard over the dragons’ wing-beats. “Report back to the Weyr.”

Gladio, Noctis, Prompto, and Ignis formed up. Their dragons went _between_ simultaneously after three massive wing-strokes, and they reappeared above Insomnia Weyr moments later.

After they’d landed in the Gather field, Gladio saw a bronze and a brown dragon appear above them - Regis and Cor, no doubt. After they landed, Cor beckoned. Gladio and the others hastened to his side.

“One of you fetch a healer. One of you fetch numbweed and fellis juice.” Ignis and Noctis raced off. “You two,” Cor looked at Gladio and Prompto, “report to the Weyrleader. Regis and I already alerted the area Holders that they will need to check for Thread burrows.”

Gladio and Prompto crossed paths with Noctis, Ignis, and the Weyrhealer. They exchanged nods but didn’t take the time to dally and talk. Once they entered the Lower Caverns, they skidded to a halt.

Weyrleader Ardyn was holding court near the fire, and seemed to be well in his cups despite the relatively early hour. More troubling was the amount of riders - mostly older men, but a few younger men and women - hanging on his every melodious word.

“Did you need something, weyrlings?” Ardyn asked with a sardonic quirk of one auburn eyebrow.

“No, Weyrleader. Have a good day,” Gladio said smoothly. He turned, grabbing Prompto by the wrist and pulling the slighter man along with him as he made his way down the hallways and back outside.

“We’re supposed to report in,” Prompto argued.

“I think… he already knew what happened. Somehow.” Gladio frowned. All the riders would have known of his father’s death; the dragons always knew when one of their kind perished. Gladio scrubbed the back of one hand over burning eyes, refusing to let the tears fall. “At any rate, he didn’t seem interested in hearing what we had to say. Let’s get back to the others. Cor will know what to do.”

As they drew closer to the small knot of people - the dragons had left, presumably to swim or sun themselves, save Caeluth who was crooning and winding his head in the air above his injured rider - Gladio could hear the grunts and groans of a man trying desperately not to scream.

The numbweed should have taken affect by now. And the fellis not far behind. Gladio thought back to his own scoring, and remembered that numbweed made the ache tolerable almost instantly.

Regis sat on a chair hastily contrived of half-filled firestone bags while the healer worked on him. Cor stood with crossed arms, narrow eyes focused on the wound on Regis’s shoulder. With the former Weryleader’s shirt cut away, it was easy to see how badly he’d been hurt. Angry red streaks marred his shoulder and bicep.

What puzzled Gladio - and seemed to be concerning Cor, and baffling the healer - were the oily lines of black interposed over the wound. Even as Gladio watched, the blackness seemed to spread. It almost looked like it was bubbling… but skin couldn’t bubble, could it?

“This is…” the master healer assigned to the Weyr, an elderly man named Tellah, trailed off into a ragged sigh. “I need to consult the Masterhealer.”

“I’ll bring him here,” Gladio offered. That would give him the chance to update Nyx and the others on what had happened today. Two blinks _between_ wouldn’t take much longer than one, and no one would question if he was gone a couple extra minutes. The Masterhealer would require a small bit of time to gather this things.

Cor nodded his assent to Gladio’s offer. With a thought, he summoned Amicitath. The last thing he saw as they took off was Noctis and Prompto supporting Regis on either side, Noctis’s face a struggle in stoicism and Prompto’s reflecting hope, even as he gingerly patted his hand, the black discoloration bleeding ever closer to it.

* * *

It seemed to take hours for Gladio to return with Masterhealer Strago, though Prompto was sure that wasn’t true. Tense situations like these, time either dragged, flew, or seemed caught in an odd amalgamation midway between the two modalities. He watched Gladio help the venerable healer down from the green dragon. The old man moved with greater speed than Prompto would have guessed, and he stepped away to give the master more room to work. Noctis stayed at his father’s side, and Prompto moved to stand beside Gladio.

“You… okay?” he asked haltingly, not sure what you were supposed to say when you just watched a friend lose his father. He had been there for Noctis when he had lost Aulea; he would do his best to be there for Gladio, too.

“I’ve gotta be,” Gladio said gruffly. “With everything going on these days, there’s no time to mourn.”

Prompto felt tears prick his eyes at the admission, but he couldn’t bring himself to gainsay it. There was a lot going on… and fewer and fewer people left to trust.

“Let’s take a walk,” Gladio said. Prompto nodded and followed him. After they were several dragon-lengths away from the others, the green rider continued speaking. “I stopped by Nyx and the others and updated them. That harper, Elendira? She’s going to check her Hall’s records for any mention of a Threadscore getting… infected.”

“Is that what this is?” Prompto asked dubiously, scratching his palm.

“I don’t know what to call it,” Gladio admitted. “So that seemed close enough.” He sighed, seeming to deflate with the exhalation, all of his sorrow and pain flashing through amber eyes. “I have to go tell Iris.”

“Do… you want me to come with you?” Prompto offered, again feeling at a loss for what to say. He blinked back the moisture beading at violet eyes; if Gladio could show such stoicism at the loss of his own father, Prompto had to try and match it.

“No,” Gladio shook his head. “We need the time.” He turned and walked towards the Weyr, and Prompto watched him go until he disappeared through the entrance to the Lower Caverns. Once the sight of his friend had vanished, Prompto turned and started to walk back towards the others to see if he could be useful. Shells, his hand itched. Was he having a reaction to the firestone he’d fed Argentamth? No, that was silly; he’d been wearing gloves. With a shrug, he kept on walking. The two healers were deep in conversation, Cor and Regis in another, and poor Noctis looked younger than his age, still pressed to this father’s side.

“Prompto,” Cor greeted him. “Where’s Gladio?”

“He went to… tell Iris,” Prompto said sadly.

Cor nodded. “Why don’t you see to your dragon, lad?” he said, and his voice was kind.

“I thought I might be needed here,” Prompto argued, looking to the young man who’d become such a fast friend in such a short amount of time.

“Can you tend Lucith for me?” Noctis asked softly. “If you’re going to Argentamth. I need to stay here.”

Prompto’s lavender gaze slid towards the Weyrlingmaster, but there was no censure in the older man’s visage. He nodded to Prompto, and Prompto nodded back decisively.

“Right. I’ll take care of them both,” he said, reaching out with his mind towards his beloved blue as he began to walk towards the lake. _Want a swim? Can you tell Lucith for me?_

_We come._ The voice of his dragon was always a reassurance to Prompto. He’d been alone for so much of his life; now he’d never be alone again. Even after two years and some-odd months, it was still hard to believe at times.

When Prompto reached the lake, he realized he had no brushes, no oil, nothing that he’d normally bring. Well, the dragons would enjoy a swim even without a proper grooming. He squatted on the shore, unable to keep from smiling at their playful antics in the water despite the horrors of the past two days, idly scratching his itchy hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I appreciate your kudos and comments so much! <3


	12. Proselytizing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all get this week's chapter a day early because I will be too busy after work tomorrow!
> 
> As always, my sincere thanks to [aliatori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori) for her beta-san eyes!

“You need to go,” Regis said implacably. “When the Weyrleader calls a meeting, all riders must be in attendance.”

Noctis scowled, but knew his father was right. In the past few weeks since that horrific Threadfall had killed Gladio’s father and injured his own, Noctis had spent every possible moment at his father’s side. He was grateful for Prompto’s help even as he felt guilty for neglecting his Lucith.

 _I don’t feel neglected,_ his dragon insisted. _Argentamth’s rider is pleasant._

“And you should check on that bronze of yours, too,” Regis added, as if he could hear Noctis’s thoughts and his mental exchange with his draconic partner.

“Don’t you want me to settle you with Caeluth before I go?” Noctis asked.

Regis started to shake his head but stopped; the movement clearly caused him no small amount of pain. Much of the redness of the Threadscore had faded, the worst of it scarring over as expected. But those insidious black lines like veins of ink continued to grow and spread. It hurt Regis to move his right side now, not just the arm. He stayed in the infirmary when he wasn’t with his dragon, and the healers and harpers were working together to try and find a cure to… whatever this was.

“He’s sleeping,” Regis replied with a small smile. “Go, my son. Report back, and tell me what is discussed.”

With a parting nod, Noctis turned and left the infirmary, making his way to the Great Hall. He arrived to a now familiar sight - the Weyrleader flanked by the two junior weyrwomen. Lunafreya looked concerned, as she always did these days. Celes still looked blank, like she wasn’t fully there. They hadn’t figured out why. Talking to her caused her eyes to fill with life, her body to become animated normally, but as soon as the conversation waned, she fell back into that odd empty state.

Ardyn was taking full advantage of Weyr politics. With the Weyrwoman dead, he was completely in charge of the Weyr - at least until another queen dragon rose, and was flown in the flight that would determine the next leaders of Insomnia Weyr. Whereas Regis’s rule had been firm but fair after Aulea’s passing, Ardyn’s had been stifling since Garnet inexplicably died. There was a rumor circulating that he intended to maintain full control of the Weyr even after another Weyrwoman rose. It bordered on blasphemy, but Noctis figured if anyone was going to ignore tradition, it was Ardyn.

Noctis spared a nostalgic thought for how things had been when his parents were the ruling pair. Heck, he’d even be okay if Lucith flew the queen - better to be Weyrleader himself than continue to live under Ardyn’s discomfiting rule. But Noctis knew that wasn’t likely. He personally planned to have Lucith summon Ulirth the minute a gold dragon started blooding her kills. Nyx had the experience of years as a bronze rider and Wingleader, he was far more prepared to be Weyrleader than someone like Noctis.

Although, Noctis - and his friends - were officially no longer weyrlings. They’d been absorbed into the Red Wings, and it was to their table that Noctis went now. There was only one seat left, so he took it, nodding politely to brown rider Rydia. On account of spending all his free time with his father, Noctis hadn’t gotten to know his wingmates much yet, but that would change over time. She smiled at him in a friendly enough manner, and then they turned their attention to the front of the Hall.

“My weyrmates,” Ardyn began unctuously, and while the terminology was technically correct, the timbre of his voice made Noctis repress a shudder. “I come to you with great news!” He spread his hands wide, declaiming like a harper. “I have found us a new solution! A way to truly defeat Thread!”

A blue rider at Noctis’s table barked a laugh, causing Wingleader Cecil to level a flat stare in his direction. Setzer, Noctis thought the man’s name was, though they hadn’t connected beyond introductions when Noctis, Prompto, Gladio, and Ignis were inducted into the Wing. “Nothing can defeat Thread but cold and fire,” he drawled, violet eyes flashing with amusement. He glanced around as if expecting people to speak up in solidarity, but while several nodded, all remained silent.

Ardyn played the crowd well, allowing that silence to hang heavy in the chamber for a long, charged moment. “As I was saying,” he continued pleasantly, “I have a new solution.”

A loud, keening warble was the interruption this time, and Noctis’s eyes went wide. Was that a dragon? It was too bass in register to be a herdbeast, far too loud to be a man.

Tellah burst into the Great Hall a moment later. He stopped before the Weyrleader’s table, folding over to rest hands on his knees as he wheezed for breath. “Forgive my intrusion, Weyrleader. But I have dire news.”

“Yes?” Ardyn asked calmly, waving a hand in a permissive signal for the Master Healer to continue speaking.

“It’s Caeluth… he… he’s sick too!”

Gasps filled the room, followed by the buzzing din of dozens of voices talking all at once. There had been a dragon plague once, hundreds of Turns ago. Noctis only knew about it because the records had been uncovered in the last decade, and the horrific tale had been added to compulsory teachings in the Weyr. A brave junior weyrwoman, Lorana, had sacrificed her queen dragon in an attempt to find a cure. She found it only after an even greater tragedy had somehow built a bridge through time, enabling her to say one word to a scientist of the past, answering a harper’s song and saving the dragons. Saving Pern.

“Silence!” Ardyn bellowed, sounding more like a dragonrider and less like a performer for once. “This meeting is adjourned. Flightleader, Wingleaders, attend me. We will learn what Master Tellah has to say.”

Noctis filed out with the others, hoping that he’d learn from Cecil what was going on. But then he realized he could go straight to the source. He was unsurprised to find his three friends forming a phalanx behind him as he hurried back to the infirmary. He _was_ surprised to find the doors sealed, and a guard posted: brown rider Titus, one of Ardyn’s wingriders.

“I’m sorry, Noctis,” Titus said, “but I have orders to let none within.”

“But… my father’s in there!” Noctis fisted his hands at his sides, trembling with anger at being denied his place by Regis’s side.

“Sorry, Noctis,” Titus said, and then folded his arms. Clearly, he wouldn’t make any exceptions.

Another draconic cry echoed through the Weyr, and Noctis spun around when Prompto moaned. He watched as Ignis and Gladio caught the slight blonde man and then gasped in realization.

“That was Argentamth, wasn’t it?” Noctis whispered.

Prompto dug his fingers into his palm, and blinked tears back from lavender eyes. “It was.”

“Your hand,” Ignis said slowly, “show it to us?”

Prompto slowly lifted his hand, unfurling the fingers to show a black patch of skin, inky lines trailing from it to disappear beneath his jacket sleeve.

“No!” Noctis shook his head, as if he could deny this. His mother, dead. Gladio’s father, dead. His father, injured and sick, along with his dragon. And now Prompto and his blue?

“Noctis,” Lunafreya appeared, though she should by all rights be in the conference of leaders. “All of you. Come quickly!”

They made their way to Lunafreya’s weyr, entering quietly when they saw Fleurenth sleeping in her stone hollow. Lunafreya poured them klah, but no one drank any. Four sets of eyes were focused on the junior weyrwoman, desperate for any hope she could offer.

Noctis in particular stared intently, locking his eyes with Lunafreya’s. She met his gaze levelly as she began to speak.

“We haven’t long. Ardyn filled the Wingleaders in on his plan, and we’re all to reconvene in an hour.”

“What’s his plan?” Gladio asked.

“It makes no sense,” Lunafreya said, exasperation filling her voice. “Ardyn claims he knows people who can help us, but…”

“But?” Ignis prompted her.

“They aren’t from Pern!”

* * *

When they’d been summoned back the Great Hall, the four men rejoined their Wing, Lunafreya taking her place of honor at the head table. This time when Ardyn rose, the room was so quiet you could hear an egg shard drop.

“I have found us help,” Ardyn said with no preamble. “They call themselves The Six.”

Ignis’s tawny eyebrows drew together in thought. He couldn’t recall ever hearing of The Six before, and with nearly two decades of life spent in the Harper Hall, if such a group existed, he’d have heard of it.

But, if what Lunafreya said was true…

“As we know from the stories of Landing and AIVAS, the Dawn Sisters and the creation of dragons… people live on many other worlds. The Six come from a collection of planets called the Federation of Sentient Planets. The have been journeying the cosmos, looking for other worlds with intelligent life... and they found us.”

Ardyn paused for that to sink in. Ignis saw a wingmate - Locke, a green rider - start to chuckle, but the nascent laughter was quickly stifled when the Weyrleader raised auburn eyebrows.

“They are simply _fascinated_ by our dragons… and by us. They have offered to help us with our Thread problem.”

“In exchange for what?” Cor asked dryly. Ignis was glad someone asked the question. As much as he liked to believe in the inherent goodness of human behavior, he knew that in actuality most things had a price.

You had to know what it was to determine if it was worth paying.

“The Six simply want the chance to get to know us and our world,” Ardyn responded smoothly, a beatific smile lighting up his face. “That seems little to ask for the salvation of Pern.”

Ignis’s mind was whirring faster than an agitated dragon’s eyes. He was a learned man; he knew that humans came to Pern from another planet. It wasn’t so far-fetched to believe that other people would come to Pern, whether to check on the progress of the ancient colony, or by accidental rediscovery.

But for those people to come bearing gifts, as it were… that had Ignis’s hackles rising.

 _This seems odd,_ Spectoth agreed. _Fleurenth doesn’t like The Six. She said they tried to talk to her and it gave her a headache._

Ardyn’s extolation of the virtues of these interplanetary visitors was interrupted by a watchrider racing into the Hall.

“Thread falls at Duscae!” he shouted, skidding to a halt before the Weyrleader’s table.

Ignis could have sworn Ardyn’s lips quirked in the tiniest hint of a smirk, but that had to be his eyes playing tricks on him, his distaste of the Weyrleader’s other antics coloring his perceptions… right?

“Very well,” Ardyn said. “Cecil, take the Red Wings. Report back after the Fall.”

Cecil nodded and stood, his Wing not far behind him. No commands were needed. They’d all drilled enough to know what to do - even the four newcomers.

Ignis harnessed Spectoth quickly, sparing no time to talk or even trade glances with his friends. This was not a drill.

Once they were all laden with firestone sacks, they took off, reaching a safe altitude and assuming the broad double-vee formation allowed by the size of their Wing. Ignis paid close attention to their Wingleader, perched on his massive bronze at the apex of the arrayed dragons. When Cecil raised his clenched fist, Ignis told his dragon to get coordinates from Fusoyuth. When he pumped it, Ignis told Spectoth to go _between_.

As often happened - a hallmark of his harper training, Ignis supposed - the refrain of Lessa’s Ride sounded in Ignis’s thoughts while they were suspended in that unrelenting darkness.

_Black, blacker, blackest…_

_and colder than frozen things._

_What is_ between _where there is naught to life_

_but fragile dragon’s wings?_

* * *

Gladio was bone weary. Even valiant Amicitath complained of fatigue, and he wasn’t surprised. They’d fought against Thread for ten grueling hours. Two riders were lost, gone _between_ forever after being too severely Threadscored to recover. A half dozen more had taken minor wounds and were being seen to now. Gladio was getting his dragon settled into her lair to sleep, and then he was going to wash up and go get some dinner.

 _Rest, love. You earned it._ Gladio gave her neck a fond pat; the exhausted beast was already asleep. After splashing some water on his face and getting the worst of the dirt off his hands, Gladio made his way down to the Lower Caverns.

They were blessedly empty. It wasn’t a typical meal time, and most people would have already found their beds. Gladio nodded tiredly to a few wingmates and made his way over to the hearth. Despite the late hour, Takka seemed as bright eyed as ever. Gladio wondered if it was the constant access to klah.

“What can I get you, green rider?” Takka asked cheerfully.

“Whatever’s hot, thank you.”

“Go find yourself a seat, we’ll bring it out.” Takka patted Gladio’s shoulder, and Gladio felt his lips twitch in the hint of a smile at the clear - but respectful - dismissal. He walked over to join the one table that had people scattered around it, exchanging silent nods of greeting with the riders who were already eating.

For once, Gladio didn’t much feel like conversation, so he was grateful for the others’ reticence. He just wanted to eat, and sleep. He tucked into this food mechanically once it was brought, not truly appreciating the nuanced flavor or skill with which it was prepared. Eat. Then sleep. Amicitath surfaced from her own slumber enough to rumble approval of Gladio’s plan.

And then all hell broke loose: the heart-wrenching scream of a dragon, echoed by a young man’s disbelieving cry.

Gladio jumped up and ran. He knew that voice.

He made it to the hallway outside the infirmary and found Noctis winding up for what looked to be a second punch to the face of the rider Ardyn had posted on the door. He crossed the distance and grabbed Noctis’s wrist, stopping him from landing the blow.

Wild cerulean eyes latched on to Gladio’s amber gaze. “He’s gone. And this dimglow wouldn’t let me in. Wouldn’t let me be at my father’s side when he died.”

Gladio’s thoughts raced. He knew what Noctis was feeling - well, maybe not exactly; Gladio had _seen_ his father die in battle, had been there. Noctis had been kept outside the room where his father took his last breath. Had Caeluth taken Regis with him _between_? It was unlikely. Caeluth couldn’t fit in the infirmary. That meant there was a corpse to deal with. Well, the Weyr was no stranger to death… especially these days. More dragons had sickened, some alongside their riders... some with healthy riders.

None - human or dragon - had chosen to survive the loss of their other half.

Gladio found himself desperately hoping he wasn’t put in a position to choose.

“Come on, Noctis,” he said, taking his friend by the shoulders and turning him away from the sickroom door. He did allow himself to give Titus a look filled with censure. In Gladio’s opinion, it was no one’s right to keep a child from their dying parent. But the Weyrleader’s word was law.

At least until the next queen rose.

Shells, it seemed like all they did these days was wait for queens to rise, wait to learn who their new leaders would be. Gladio wished they had the stability granted by Aulea and Regis’s long reign. Hopefully after the next queen rose, a new Weyrleader would be chosen to lead alongside the Weyrwoman, and this chaos and strangeness wrought by Ardyn’s rule would soon be behind them.

“Let’s go, Noctis,” Gladio said gently when the younger man continued to stand still. Gladio gave him a soft shove, and once the forward momentum started, Noctis moved pliantly down the corridor away from the room holding his father’s body. Gladio was of a mind to get him incredibly drunk, but given that the memorial would likely happen at dawn, that wasn’t a smart idea. Instead, he took him to his weyr and had Amicitath bespeak their friends’ dragons. Soon the room was full of friendly faces. Prompto, Ignis, and Iris had all joined them, and while Noctis stayed completely silent, Gladio knew his best friend well enough to know that he was grateful not to face this alone.

Gladio did pour himself a drink. The death of Regis just brought home for him once again his own father’s loss, and he still mourned Clarus keenly.

 _I am with you,_ Amicitath said with a reassuring warble.

 _I know. And I’m grateful. But I miss him._ Gladiolus felt wetness on his cheeks and swore inwardly; he needed to present a strong face for Noctis, and Iris - not lose himself in his grief.

 _Lucith says you should spend time with his rider, just as I spend time with him,_ Amicitath counselled.

Dragons didn’t dwell long in grief, Gladio remembered ruefully. If they did, how would they ever rise against Thread again and again, if they still heard their dead wingmates’ keens ringing in their heads?

Well, memories or not, Gladio would do this duty. He was a dragonman; he would fight Thread and honor his father’s memory. And he knew Noctis would too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday Eve!
> 
> If the spirit moves you, please leave me a comment and tell me what you think! Loved it? Hated it? Have theories? Lay it on me, fam! <3


	13. Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, my thanks to [aliatori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori) for her beta-san eyes! <3
> 
> Please note: I have finally corrected the errors in chapter 5. It was mainly the timeline that changed.

Six sevendays had passed, and Prompto was frustrated.

Cecil had made him move to the infirmary when the black spread from his hand, up his arm, and across his chest. But he felt _fine_! He didn’t need to be cooped up and restricted to bed rest, he needed to be out there fighting Thread with his wingmates.

The Six’s promised salvation had yet to manifest, though every evening the Weyrleader regaled the assembled riders with tales of their alleged glory. More and more dragonriders and weyrfolk were buying into the dream that these Six could stop Thread.

But in the meantime, Thread continued to fall. Dragons continued to sicken. They and their riders continued to die.

Some seemed unaffected despite prolonged exposure. Noctis, for example, who had sat by Regis’s bedside and now kept Prompto company when permitted, showed no signs of infection. Others were more sick than Prompto in a fraction of the time, the fastest case going from blackspot to death in four days.

Dragons keening death knells was a common sound in the Weyr these days. But Prompto was determined it wouldn’t be his Argentamth creeling a dirge for his rider before following him into oblivion. Prompto was _fine_.

Pushing from his bed, he moaned as the room seemed to spin around him. He must have cried out louder than he thought, for the person posted outside the infirmary’s doors - Luche today - burst in and helped Prompto ease back into bed. The blue rider of Ardyn’s personal Wing left without a word, and Prompto made a rude gesture at the closing door, though his arm wobbled with enervation.

 _Are you all right?_ His dragon’s voice filled his head, and Prompto smiled despite the pounding headache that pained him.

 _I should be asking you that,_ he countered. _How are you feeling?_

 _Better, I think._ Argentamth sounded cheerful.

 _Were you able to eat today?_ Prompto asked.

 _Yes,_ his partner’s voice was hesitant.

 _Couldn’t keep it down again, huh?_ Struggling to keep the sadness from his mental tone, Prompto searched for bolstering words, pushing as much love as he could through the unbreakable bond with his draconic other half. _You feeling better is wonderful news! We’ll be back flying with our Wing in no time._

 _Yes,_ his dragon agreed serenely. _I will sleep now._ With that, the only thoughts in Prompto’s head were his own.

Gritting his teeth, he again tried to stand. This time he made it halfway to the door before he collapsed, face flushed in shame as he waited for Luche to come in again and help him up. As the minutes ticked away and Prompto was left laying on the floor, helpless tears burned in lavender eyes.

But he was _tired_. So very, very tired. Closing reddened eyes, he slept right there.

* * *

_Lunafreya._

Blinking sleep from her eyes, the junior weyrwoman sat up in her bed, instinctively looking to her dragon’s hollow. But Fleurenth was sound asleep, rumbling with dragonkind’s closest approximation of snoring. Who had called her name?

Rising and shrugging a robe over her sleeping gown, Lunafreya’s pale gold eyebrows drew together in confusion. She didn’t see anyone in her quarters. Perhaps she was remembering the tail end of a dream, one so real that it caused her to awaken.

_Lunafreya!_

“Who’s there?” she shouted, striding from one side of her weyr to the other. Fleurenth bugled in protest as she woke up, but catching her rider’s mood, she went on the defensive, rising into a crouch and hissing, multifaceted eyes whirring the orange-red of alarm.

 _My name is Gentiana,_ the strange voice continued inside her head, and Lunafreya knew it addressed Fleurenth too. _May we meet? It might be easier if we can speak with our tongues rather than our minds._

 _But who_ are _you?_ Lunafreya demanded. Her head was starting to hurt; speaking mentally to one other than her bonded partner was taxing.

 _Where can we meet?_ The stranger continued calmly as if Lunafreya hadn’t spoken.

She thought quickly. She didn’t want to bring this unknown entity to Insomnia. But she didn’t know anywhere that would truly suit. _The Gather field outside what used to be Galahd Hold,_ Lunafreya settled on. There were no people left in Galahd any longer, not after the ravages of Thread. That should be safe enough.

 _I see the place in your mind. I shall be there in two hours time._ And with that, no presence lingered in Lunafreya’s mind save Fleurenth.

If she had only an hour, she needed to move quickly. Lunafreya needed to dress, eat, and find her friends - for she wasn’t going alone.

* * *

“I still don’t like this,” Noctis muttered.

“Nor I,” Ignis agreed. “We should get the others from the island. Strength in numbers.”

“We don’t know what this woman wants,” Gladio said reasonably. “Assuming she comes alone, we’ll already outnumber her four to one.” Four, not five. Prompto was still in a sickbed.

“She didn’t seem malevolent,” Lunafreya insisted. “Just… strange.” All that Lunafreya was certain of were two things: Gentiana had _felt_ female, and she clearly had mental powers beyond the average Pernese citizen. Not a believer in coincidence, Lunafreya wondered if this woman was connected to Ardyn’s new allies somehow. She wondered why Gentiana had chosen to reach out to Lunafreya rather than a senior rider, a Weyrwoman in truth rather than one who had yet to take her maiden mating flight.

They had landed a short distance from Galahd proper, about a mile’s walk to the Gather field. Lunafreya thought the fresh air, at a lower altitude than typical, would do them all good, giving them time to think and plan. Their dragons had found a sunny knoll to rest upon and were only three heartbeats away no matter what the physical distance. Lunafreya wasn’t only thinking of their other three allies because Ignis had mentioned them. Nyx and Crowe had both come from Galahd and her heart broke for them - for all the Galahdians - all over again for the closer they drew, the more apparent the devastation. She knew the grubs were never quite as effective away from Southern soils, but she had no idea the damage would be so wide-spread. The forests were gone, the farmland was fallow. Neither people nor herdbeasts lived here any longer, and the silence was so heavy it felt oppressive.

 _This is why we fight,_ Lunafreya thought with resolve. _To keep this from happening. And I won’t let it happen again!_

 _Stop shouting, child,_ Gentiana’s voice broke in on Lunafreya’s personal thoughts, a hint of laughter coloring her mental timbre. _It is good to have such strong resolve, but you must temper the enthusiasm with careful strategy._

Lunafreya snorted, causing her companions to give her sidelong glances. “My new friend is talking to me again,” she explained drolly.

She saw Noctis narrow his eyes and she raised a hand in what she hoped was more of a soothing gesture than an expression of impatience at his continued caution. “We should arrive soon. Prepare yourselves.” Command came easy to Lunafreya, and her companions were trained to obey their queens and fell into step without too much fuss, though each spared her a glance that promised words would be had later. Gladio in particular gave her a grin much like the ones she’d seen him give his little sister. Lunafreya stifled a surge of irritation. She was older than he! But she realized it was good for him to look on her so fondly, and decided it wasn’t worth taking umbrage over.

 _So you can temper your emotions. Very good._ That mellifluous voice again, as ringing and clear as if they stood side by side.

_Please wait until we arrive. This manner of communication hurts me._

Lunafreya felt Gentiana instantly withdraw from her head, and her headache abated. The fledgling headache faded away simultaneously and she heaved a pleased sigh. From then on out, silence, both audible and mental, reigned as they approached the Galahdian Gather field. Shading her eyes with one hand, Lunafreya could just barely make out the form of a woman. So, she’d guessed aright on that score.

The stranger - Gentiana - stood tall, taller than all of them save Gladio. She had thick, jet-black hair that fell in straight lines to her waist, bangs cut just above equally dark brows. Her eyes were closed and her porcelain features serene, russet lips curved in the merest ghost of a smile.

“Welcome,” she said, and her external voice was as melodic and even-pitched as her mental one. “Thank you for meeting me here. And for bringing your friends. We will need their help.”

* * *

No matter how much Lunafreya reassured them, no matter that they’d arrived and found a woman alone, unarmed, and posing no threat, Noctis didn’t like this one bit. His instincts were screaming at him to summon Lucith, to get away, to find some other allies than a stranger who spoke in his friend’s mind like a dragon.

 _What have you to be so afraid of, bronze rider?_ Gentiana’s smile blossomed, and she dipped her head in his direction.

 _Get out of my head!_ he snapped, not liking the feel of someone other than his dragon touching his mind.

She looked at him curiously, her head tilted in a birdlike manner. Though her eyes were shut, her emotions came through clearly. Noctis felt uncomfortable; he was only used to sensing Lucith’s emotions so easily, and this felt like an attempt at mirroring that bond.

“Please, I meant no offense.” The foreign presence was gone, and Noctis could no more sense Gentiana’s emotions than Gladio’s. “It is simply natural to me to reach out with my mind, just as you think nothing of speaking out loud.”

“Why don’t you explain why you wished to meet with us?” Ignis suggested, crossing lithe arms across his chest.

Gentiana nodded, and turned towards Lunafreya. She blinked her eyes open, and Noctis was momentarily dazzled by the weight of _knowledge_ contained by those lustrous umber depths.

“You know not the strength of your own mind, do you child?” she asked kindly. Glancing around at the assembled riders, she continued, “none of you do.”

Noctis met her bemused half-smile with a flat stare. He had little patience for mysterious insinuations and wished she’d just get to it.

“Perhaps,” Lunafreya said, “but you’re speaking in veiled words. Please speak clearly.”

Gentiana bowed her head again, and when she raised it, her eyes were closed as she began to speak. “I come from a planet far from Pern. My planet is part of a conglomeration...a confederacy of sorts, many worlds banded together to help each other, for trade purposes. The Federation of Sentient Planets.” Her russet lips quirked in a small smile. “FSP, for simplicity’s sake. I am… was… employed by a company called the FT&T: Federated Telepaths and Teleporters. They scout out young folks with strong minds and put them to work as their Talents dictate. I am a powerful telepath and empath. Prime level.” She paused, as if expecting them to react in some way, but Noctis had no inkling of what ‘Prime level’ denoted.

Telepath, he understood. He talked to his dragon telepathically. Teleport, he wasn’t as certain about.

“Our dragons teleport,” Ignis interjected, “when they take us _between_. I recall that word from Kitti Ping’s preserved notes. And we communicate with them telepathically.” He frowned in thought, ash blonde brows drawing down. “Do you mean to imply that people can speak to other people the way we speak with dragons? And people can go _between_ without dragons?” His voice was incredulous.

“I do not imply,” Gentiana corrected gently, turning her serene face in his direction, the corners of her sealed eyes crinkling as her smile deepened. “How do you think I traveled here, such an unfathomable distance from my own home?”

“If people can blink _between_ like dragons, why have we never been visited by any of you before?” Gladio asked skeptically.

“A good question.” Gentiana pursed her lips, considering her words. “It is widely thought that the Pern expedition failed, as no data was ever relayed back to the FSP. My companions and I grew bored with our tenure in Prime Towers, and decided to journey and explore. We began hearing your dragons and came closer to investigate.”

“You’ve been studying us,” Noctis said. “But not reaching out, until now. Why?”

“We had agreed upon a policy of non-interference, a sort of Prime directive if you will. But one of my companions began speaking with your leader, and—”

“Ardyn,” Noctis hissed. “You’re one of The Six! He’s been filling the Weyr with tales of your glory and how much you can help us against Thread.” Righteous anger burned in cerulean eyes. “If you can help, why haven’t you? Good people have died. Good _dragons_ have died. More are sick, and our healers have no idea how to cure them.” He began to pace, needing an outlet for his emotions. Noctis saw similar outrage mirrored on Gladio’s face, and a more subdued expression of ire on Ignis’s. Lunafreya appeared thoughtful, but Noctis knew the weyrwoman often hid her true feelings behind a wall of calm.

“Yes, I am one of The Six. And I am sorry for your grave losses. Perhaps I should have interceded sooner. But I’ve only just learned knowledge that changes our policy of non-interference.”

“What has changed your mind? And how can you help?” Lunafreya’s voice rang with command.

“One of my… allies,” Gentiana hesitated over the word, as if uncertain of its accuracy, “is responsible for the scourge affecting both dragons and riders. He is working with your Weyrleader to coordinate where to target the Thread.”

Noctis realized he was gaping and shut his mouth. “Target Thread? But Thread just… falls!” He advanced on her, fists clenched at his sides. “You people… you _Six_ are responsible for this sickness? _For killing my father?_ ”

“Noctis,” Ignis laid a hand on his shoulder. “Let her speak.”

“It is a long story, and I’ve already said so much. I do not wish to overwhelm you. Perhaps we should take a brief respite?”

“No,” Gladio snarled, coming to stand beside Noctis. “You’re gonna explain this _now_. I want to know why our fathers died, and how you ‘benevolent, generous Six, here to save us from Thread’s return’ made it happen.”

“Let’s at least sit down,” Lunafreya said smoothly, putting action to word and lowering herself gracefully to sit cross-legged on the grass.

The others followed suit, and then Gentiana picked up her narrative once more.

“My companions are not all as… ethical… as I am. I was fascinated by the life you lead here, by your dragons, by the way you’ve survived with relatively little technology. One of my companions in particular was covetous of your planet’s natural resources, and he sought out a contact whose mind felt amenable to his dreams of profiting from it.”

“Ardyn,” Noctis said flatly.

“Yes. One other of our collective joined him. One feels as I do, that we should leave you and your world alone, save for any aid we can offer that wouldn’t disrupt your pastoral existence. The other two care little for such matters, and spend their time lost in their own minds, seeking out yet new planets to discover and explore.”

“You said you - _they_ \- are responsible for the sickness? And Thread?” Lunafreya leaned forward intently.

“Ardyn conceived the idea of Thread. Your dragons can do something no Talent has ever attempted, as far as I know: they can travel through time as well as space. Ardyn sent his cohorts to gather Thread, with the help of one of my companions. They infected it with kleevi - an insectoid life form from a planet distant from Pern, even more destructive than Thread since it’s sentient - and caused it to fall when and where they chose.”

“They destroyed Galahd,” Ignis said softly.

“And they targeted the Kingsglaive Wing. As well as our fathers,” Gladio growled.

“Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” Noctis said, pushing back to his feet. He was way too fired up to sit calmly; he wanted to strike out, to attack, to get revenge for his father’s death, for Clarus, for the Kingsglaive, for the dragons. For those in the Weyr whose bodies were lined with the black death but hadn’t yet succumbed, like Prompto and Argentamth. “Ardyn teamed up with two of your friends, brought back Thread, infected it, and used it to take out the opposition one by one until your people can plunder Pern’s resources?”

Gentiana looked deeply saddened. “You have it right, save more I haven’t shared. Ardyn killed the queens… both your mother and Garnet. My compatriot was controlling both Garnet and Celes telepathically, but Garnet’s mind proved too strong, so she had to be eliminated.” She turned to Lunafreya once more, and opened her eyes to regard her gravely. “You are next, since your natural defenses have prevented Bahamut from taking over your mind. That is why I wished to speak to you. I wish to protect you.”

“I hope it’s not too little, too late,” Noctis muttered, unimpressed.

“Your mind, bronze rider, is almost as powerful as hers,” Gentiana asserted. “I would work with you both to teach you to use them more fully. I believe we can stop the evil which befalls your planet - but only if we work together.”

Lunafreya straightened her posture, determination personified. “Can the… scourge… be cured? Once a person or dragon is infected, is there any hope?”

Gentiana smiled beatifically. “There is always hope.” She extended a hand towards Lunafreya. “Let me show you how.”

* * *

Noctis paced impatiently, waiting for Lunafreya to return. Gladio and Ignis sat talking with Gentiana, but he couldn’t hear more of this, not today, not now. His head ached with knowledge. People going _between_ like dragons? Thread being resurrected by one of the dragonriders pledged to protect Pern?

It was all too much.

It felt like hours, but in truth was maybe a quarter of one, before Lunafreya’s Fleurenth reappeared in the skies over ruined Galahd. Noctis rushed over once they landed, and helped Prompto climb down from the massive gold. The blue rider winced with every motion, and Noctis shuddered at seeing just in the span of a day how much more the blackness had taken over his pale, freckled skin.

“Bring him quickly!” Gentiana ordered. “We haven’t much time.”

He and Lunafreya helped Prompto stagger over to where Gentiana still sat, and lowered him to the ground carefully. Lunafreya knelt opposite of Gentiana, and each woman laid a hand on his head, joining their other hands.

Noctis stood back and looked on dubiously, joined by Ignis and Gladio. All were still and silent, waiting and watching. There wasn’t much to see at first, but then Noctis gasped, leaning forward so far he would have fallen if Gladio hadn’t grabbed him. “Look!” he shouted, unable to contain his joyous shock. Bit by bit, the blackness was fading, the lines receding. He could see sweat beading on Lunafreya’s brow, though Gentiana still seemed perfectly composed, that serene smile still curving her lips.

“Remarkable,” Ignis murmured, and Noctis could only nod his agreement.

Lavender eyes fluttered open and Prompto inhaled without any of the wheezing that had filled his breaths for sevendays. “L-Lunafreya?” he glanced to his other side. “I’m sorry, healer, I don’t know you. But you both have my thanks.”

Lunafreya’s laughter was a melody of relief. “Yes. Thank you.” She squeezed Gentiana’s hand before releasing it and helped Prompto sit upright.

Noctis and the other men clustered around, patting Prompto’s back and offering words of gratitude to Gentiana.

The Talent demurred. “It was Lunafreya who cured him,” she insisted. “I merely showed her the way.”

Those fathomless dark eyes flashed open, locked on Noctis’s face. “ _Now_ are you willing to learn?”

Noctis nodded. “When can we start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday, fam! Thanks for reading! Kudos & comments make my heart smile! <3


	14. Retreat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My continued thanks to my dear beta-san [aliatori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori) for everything they do! <3

Hours later, they ate meatrolls around a cheerful fire. Gladio was grateful he’d followed the teachings of his father and packed basic rations in his carisak. Clarus had impressed upon Iris and him never to travel unprepared, and tonight that meant they all had dinner. It was meager fare, but they set upon it with a will as they planned their next moves.

“We can’t go back to Insomnia,” Noctis said. “Not if they’re after Lunafreya.”

“But Argentamth is there,” Prompto argued. He turned to face Gentiana. “You can heal him too, right?”

“Yes,” Gentiana nodded. “Lunafreya is also capable.”

“Can we really abandon our Weyr?” Lunafreya asked softly.

“It’s not abandoning them… it’s gaining the skills and knowledge necessary to save them,” Ignis said. “I believe I can help get your dragon,” he said to Prompto. “For once, my maddening ability to bespeak them all will come in handy.” He rose. “If I’m not back by the time you’ve finished eating, I’ve failed, and you’ll need to find another way to extract Argentamth from Insomnia.”

Gladio watched him walk to his brown with a concerned frown. He and Ignis might not be the closest friends - despite how tightly their dragons had bonded - but he wanted the chance to grow their rapport, to see what could blossom between them. After Spectoth disappeared between, Gladio returned his attention to his supper. No point dwelling on what-ifs; he’d know soon enough if Ignis succeeded.

“But where can we go that they can’t find us?” Prompto was asking. “I mean, if they are as powerful as you say.” Gentiana had filled Prompto in on the information she’d previously shared with the others, and he was just as full of questions as they all were. “Couldn’t they find us anywhere?”

“I can block them,” Gentiana said simply. “And I will teach Lunafreya the same skill. And Noctis.” She smiled to soften her next words, “The rest of you could not learn, I fear. But between the three of us, we can maintain the… call it a mental ‘wall’… and stay undetected.”

“We need to collect Nyx, Crowe, and Aranea from Ista,” Lunafreya said. “We’ll need their help, too.”

“Right,” Noctis agreed. “Maybe we could—-”

A blast of cold air and a dragon’s triumphant roar, and Spectoth and Argentamth were landing. Prompto jumped up and raced to his blue dragon’s side, patting him carefully between two streaks of black.

Lunafreya and Gentiana were steps behind. Gentiana laid a hand between Lunafreya’s shoulder blades and nodded at her encouragingly. After taking a deep breath, Lunafreya lay her hands directly on the scourge-darkened hide and closed her eyes.

Gladio noted how her body tensed and her brow wrinkled. However this healing worked, it sure seemed to take a lot out of the healer. Curing the blue took longer than curing Prompto, which made perfect sense to Gladio. A dragon was far larger than a man. But in due time, the dragon was clear of scourge-marks, his eyes whirring in green delight.

Prompto clung to his dragon while weeping openly. “You’re alright,” he cried. “Thank you. Oh, _thank you_.”

Lunafreya kissed his cheek, and then she and Gentiana stepped away to rejoin the others and give the recently healed pair time to themselves. “Perhaps we should go north,” she suggested, picking up the conversation that had been interrupted. “Harper Hall is an obvious choice. The knowledge there between the harpers, healers, and Records at Fort would be invaluable.”

“But is it too obvious a choice?” Gladio countered. “We can visit the Halls as we need adragonback.”

“Why not by the Benden Smithcraft Hall?” Noctis said. “It’s a small outpost, but we’d be well connected. And the smiths may be able to help too, depending on what we need to do.”

“I think that would suit perfectly,” Gentiana said, “from what little I know of your world.”

“Then it’s settled,” Gladio said. “We’ll collect the others from Ista, and set up base outside of Benden.”

* * *

Gladio volunteered to go collect the remainder of their allies, and Ignis volunteered to go with him. While they did so, Noctis and Prompto would scout for a campsite far enough off the beaten path that they wouldn’t be likely to be noticed, but close enough to Benden Weyr that the citizens wouldn’t question a dragon or two flying overhead. Gentiana had offered to assist Lunafreya in gathering needed supplies and personal possessions from the Weyr, as she knew how to mask their mental presence.

“Lunafreya,” Gladio said urgently, laying a hand on her shoulder. He met those grave sylleblossom-blue eyes somberly. “Bring my sister too? I fear what repercussions she might face once my defection is discovered.”

“Of course,” she agreed immediately. “I wish I could bring the entire Weyr, see them all safely away from Ardyn and his cohorts.”

“We’ll save them,” Gladio growled fiercely. “Maybe it’s selfish for me to want Iris safe now. But I’ll be able to focus better knowing she’s protected.” He squeezed Lunafreya’s shoulder before releasing it. “We’ll save them all, Weyrwoman.” One could hear the capital ‘w’ in his inflection; Lunafreya obviously took note from the way her eyes grew round.

“You do me too much honor, green rider,” she demurred, bowing her head to tumble golden hair forward in a veil around her face.

“Do I?” Gladio challenged. “You’re the only queen rider among us. We could use the morale boost of a Weyrwoman in our midst.”

Lunafreya’s lips compressed into a tight, thin line for a long moment, and then she lifted her head and nodded. “Very well. I shall be a Weyrwoman without a Weyr.”

“A Weyr is where dragons live,” Noctis interjected, his voice surprisingly warm. “Prompto and I will find a good Weyr-site, Weyrwoman.” With a cheeky grin, he turned and bounded over to his great, gleaming bronze, leaping upwards and climbing to his back.

Prompto waved from atop his dragon. Gladio waved back, as did the others. It still weirded him out how Gentiana seemed to see as well as the rest of them - or better - despite her penchant to keep her eyes shut. After the two young men had vanished _between_ , Gladio turned to Ignis. “You ready?”

“Indeed,” the brown rider nodded. “Weyrwoman. Gentiana.” He inclined his head towards each lady in turn before making his way towards Spectoth.

Gladio followed suit, offering a simple salute, fist across his chest. “Have Fleurenth bespeak Amicitath if you run into any trouble.”

Lunafreya nodded, that gravity back in her eyes. “You do the same. Safe flying, dragonriders.”

Making his way to Amicitath’s side, Gladio mounted easily. _You know where we’re going?_

 _Yes_ , she agreed, ruffling her wings as he got settled. _Ignis has given me clear coordinates._

Gladio was surprised. Dragons didn’t often name other humans save Weyrwomen and Weyrleaders, and even then it wasn’t common. _Good._ He looked over to the brown and his rider, and saw Ignis raise a hand to indicate his readiness. From his peripheral vision, he saw a flash of gold as Fleurenth took off with her passengers, and Gladio turned to watch as they lifted to a safe transfer altitude and went _between_.

Looking back to Ignis, Gladio lifted his hand to indicate that he was prepared. He heard an echo of the conversation between Amicitath and Spectoth, and was therefore unsurprised when both dragons took off simultaneously. Five great wing-strokes was all it took, and then they were _between_. Gladio counted to himself: one, two, thre—

They emerged above the Istan island chain, and Gladio was relieved to see no other dragons in the skies. With the time difference, they were arriving mid-afternoon, a time when many rested due to the oppressive heat this time of year. After landing on the beach, Gladio unstrapped himself and slid down Amicitath’s side gracefully, patting her neck and meeting one big, multifaceted eye. It whirred mostly with the green of good cheer, small flecks of orange the only indicator that she shared her rider’s nerves.

“We’ll be back soon, so don’t get too comfortable,” he said out loud so that Ignis was able to hear it as well as both dragons. “You’ll have time to sun yourselves later.”

Amicitath rumbled tolerantly and turned to face into the sun, spreading her wings to soak up what she could with the time allotted. Spectoth joined her, crooning softly, and as Gladio watched the two twined the tips of their tails together.

Turning towards the main structure, Gladio headed up the hill, Ignis a step behind. As he lifted his hand to open the doors, they burst open from within, Aranea framed by the open portal.

“About time you came back,” she said brusquely. “We’ve been waiting for news.”

“There is much to tell,” Ignis said. “But not here.”

“Why not?” Nyx asked, coming up behind Aranea, Crowe at his side.

“Gather your things,” Gladio ordered. “We’re moving base somewhere less populated, with more privacy.”

Nyx and Crowe exchanged a look, sharing that wordless communication lovers grow into after long years together. Crowe tapped Aranea’s arm, and the two women vanished deeper into the hall, but Nyx remained.

“How about you give me the basics?” Nyx said mildly.

Gladio tried to keep it succinct; they’d get the full story once they were all gathered together again. “People and dragons are still getting sick. And dying. Ardyn gathered the Weyr and announced he found help, aliens called The Six. Clarus and Crailath died. Regis and Caeluth died. Prompto nearly died, but Lunafreya and Gentiana healed him and Argentamth.”

“Who is Gentiana?” Nyx interrupted with a frown.

“Gentiana is one of The Six. She contacted Lunafreya telepathically, just like how we talk to our dragons. She taught Lunafreya how to heal the scourge, and said she and a friend of hers will teach Lunafreya and Noctis more.”

“You gave me more questions than answers,” Nyx said with a wry laugh.

“We’ll have time for more answers at camp,” Ignis said. “I’m going to get some books.” He walked away, ostensibly to the library, leaving the other two men alone.

Sapphire cleaved unto topaz. “We have a plan yet?”

“Yeah,” Gladio nodded. “But it’s gonna take some work, and we’re still working out the details.”

* * *

An hour later, and they were all mounting up after saying their farewells to the kind souls who had hosted them. Crowe took an extra moment with Elendira, embracing her warmly. “Your help has been invaluable, harper.”

Elendira smiled, a hint of mischief sparkling in her eyes. “The Harper Hall and the Weyrs have long been allies, brown rider. Consider it my tithe to Pern’s protectors.” Her humor faded. “And do call on me again if you need further assistance. I plan to return to Harper Hall and continue researching. I know this Gentiana has brought a cure, but perhaps I can find more in the Records.”

Crowe nodded. “Good luck.” She headed out into the courtyard and down the hill. Each dragon was laden with bundles tied to the flying straps, supplies to provision their new camp. Crowe was the last to mount up, but figured the extra minutes she took to say farewell to a friend were well spent. These days, you never knew when you’d see a friend again.

If you’d see a friend again.

She blinked back hot tears as thoughts of her deceased wingmates filled her head, and shook her head as if she could cast away the sad feelings. This wasn’t the time for them.

Altiuth craned his head around and warbled at her soothingly, his gemstone eyes flecked with the yellow of worry and the red of anger as he empathically mirrored her emotions. _You are unwell._

_I’m fine. Let’s go._

They lifted off and formed a diamond pattern since there were only five of them. Nyx and his bronze took point, Gladio and his green took rear. The three brown riders spread out in a line in the middle, Ignis in the center, Crowe to the left, Aranea on the right.

Crowe wondered why they hadn’t gone _between_ yet. _Ask Ulrith why the delay._

_He says we are waiting for coordinates._

A surge of annoyance bubbled up. Why had they taken off if they still didn’t have the coordinates? They were flying in the vague direction of Benden, but it would take hours - nearly a day - to fly there straight. With a sigh, she hoped the coordinates would come in soon.

 _The sun is warm. The air is clean. We are together._ Altiuth’s voice sounded in Crowe’s head, pragmatic as always.

 _You’re right, dear heart,_ she agreed. _We may as well enjoy this. Hey, why don’t we…_

She hadn’t needed to finish forming the thought and her partner caught on, emitting the barking cough which was draconic laughter a heartbeat before winging downward from the formation and spinning into a barrel roll. Crowe clung to the flight harness and laughed. Her laughter only grew louder when she heard Ulrith’s bellow of censure.

_He says stop playing and get in formation._

_Tell him we could all use a little fun,_ Crowe grinned. _But, only one more, and then we’ll get back in place._

It was another hour until they received the coordinates, and Crowe spent it deep in thought. Long flights could be meditative, nothing but the wind in your face and the sound of your dragon’s wings beating the air. She considered each of their allies. Noctis and Gladio she knew the best since they’d grown up in Insomnia Weyr. Both were solid lads, and seemed to have grown up into good men. Aranea she had gotten to know fairly well over the past few sevendays of their Istan isolation. She was hotheaded, but her heart was in the right place. Ignis was an asset with his harper hall training and ability to hear all dragons. Prompto was the only one still mostly a question mark in her mind. But, Argentamth had chosen him, and the dragons were never wrong.

Lunafreya, though, was something special. Crowe had thought so from the moment she spied her in the Lower Caverns eating breakfast, before she’d even Impressed. That was one Impression Crowe hadn’t laid wagers on. She felt almost as if it would have been cheating, so certain she was that Lunafreya would bond with the newborn golden queen.

While the tales Gladio had brought them about this Gentiana and her powers were hard to believe, the one part of the fanciful stories Crowe had no difficulty believing was that Lunafreya had been able to heal the scourge. There was just something about her.

Crowe was glad she was on their side, and safely way from Ardyn’s influence.

 _I have the coordinates_ , Altiuth interrupted her ruminations. _Ulrith says we will transfer in five minutes._

They emerged from _between_ into cold that would have seemed intense if not for the bone-freezing chill of _between_ itself. Crowe looked forward to a mug of hot klah and a place by a fire once they’d landed and settled their dragons. _Ask Ulrith where to land, and take us down._

Altiuth circled along with the others, the five dragons moving in a cyclonic dance as they wound their way closer to the ground. Some marvel of draconic instinct kept them from colliding, though betimes Crowe thought some of the buffets of air were from her allies’ dragons’ wingstrokes. After landing, Crowe unbuckled the safety straps and removed the cargo from Altiuth, smoothing her gloved palms over the places on his hide the leather had lain, making sure its brown expanse wasn’t cracked or marred in any way.

 _I’m fine_ , he said fondly. _I’m tired. I will sleep._

While this was no proper Weyr, settled in the crater of an inactive volcano, Noctis and Prompto had found them an ideal spot. A cave system ensured the dragons could sleep out of the elements, and their riders, too. The meadow they had landed in was just large enough for that; otherwise, trees were all around, a thick canopy of branches perfect to mask the sight of their fires when they cooked.

Crowe hauled her share of the cargo towards the crackling campfire. “Where should I put this?” she asked to no one in particular.

“Over here,” Lunafreya said. “This cave is largest, we’ll use it as our Lower Cavern and conference room all in one.”

She took her bundles there and set them down before taking off her flying gloves and tucking them in her belt. “What else needs doing?”

“Noctis and Prompto are gathering more wood. We could use a hunting team, and a domestic team.

“I’ll hunt,” Aranea said.

“Nyx and I will go too,” Crowe said quickly. She was no cook, and if her options were setting up their camp or going hunting, she knew which she’d rather do.

“I’ll stay here,” Gladio said. Crowe hadn’t noticed until then that his little sister was there, and the way Iris clung to Gladio’s arm made Crowe smile. “We’ll get things set up.”

“And I will help in the ‘Lower Cavern’,” Ignis offered. “Takka had been teaching me Insomnian cooking.” He flashed a sardonic grin. “Those tales of letting harpers around the food are entirely unfounded, I tell you.”

“As long as you leave some for the rest of us,” Aranea said drolly, causing them all to laugh.

“Let’s meet back here in two hours,” Lunafreya said. Crowe admired and appreciated the way she took command. And was as unsurprised by the easy way of leadership she had about her as she’d been by her Impression.

The dragons always knew. They’d chosen well with Lunafreya.

“Hey, hero!” Crowe called to Nyx, who was still fussing with Ulrith’s harness across the clearing. “We’ve got a job to do.”

He looked at her, grinned, and she felt her heart lighten.

Times were tough, that was the truth. But they were together, and By the Egg of Faranth, they’d come through this.

They always did.

* * *

There were some who would call cooking beneath his station. Others still who would insist he should leave it to the culinary masters. But Ignis had found it advantageous as a journeyman harper, sent out on the roads, to be able to prepare his own meals - as well as meals to share with others. Since becoming a dragonrider three years ago, he hadn’t often been able to indulge in his hobby. Takka ruled the Lower Caverns of Insomnia Weyr with an iron fist and a spatula to swat away sneaking fingers. When Ignis had been a weyrling, he’d been given chore rotations near the kitchens - peeling tubers, or seeding fruits, nothing that was truly cooking. But at least it had enabled him to be near, to study, to learn.

He hadn’t much to work with here in the Benden wilderness, but they’d brought some provisions with them, and he was hopeful the hunting team would come back with some wherries. Those would be a treat roasted over the fire with rosemary and sage. While he had indeed fetched a few books from the small healing hall at Ista, he’d also raided their kitchens, offering the headwoman a song in exchange for packets of spices.

Just because they were roughing it didn’t mean they couldn’t have _any_ comforts.

Heat crept along sharp cheekbones. Now, why did ‘comfort’ make him think of Gladio?

Ignis’s lips pursed, and he resumed chopping the sage. Just because their dragons were besotted didn’t mean they had to have anything to do with one another, outside their work as members of this… this… Weyrcamp.

But Ignis remembered the way that strong, tall body had felt pressed against his, recalled the way Gladio had given over everything that he was to the pleasure wrought between them, joined in glory as their dragons mated in the skies — and he _wanted_.

This wasn’t the time for such frivolous concerns, however. He had work to do. Immediately: prepare the herbs and vegetables to go with the meat presumably to come back with the hunting party. Afterwards: clean up the kitchen and bank the fire for the morning. Finally: continue to do what he could in this battle against Ardyn and The Six, to see Thread again gone from Pern, and no more dragons or riders falling to this plague. This scourge.

Not such a daunting to-do list, he tried to encourage himself.

 _You are not alone_ , Spectoth spoke up suddenly. Ignis knew the dragon wasn’t only referring to their bond.

Ignis had become fast friends with his fellow brown rider, Aranea, and enjoyed a greater camaraderie with Noctis, Prompto, and Gladio after the past couple months. He liked to think that he and Lunafreya were becoming friends, which just left Crowe and Nyx as the riders he needed to get to know.

“Need any help?” a sweet soprano voice lilted in query.

Ignis turned and smiled, seeing Iris standing there with her hands clasped at her back, bouncing on her toes with the boundless energy of youth.

Gladio stood behind her, those amber eyes latching onto Ignis’s verdant gaze in solemn counterpoint to Iris’s cheer.

“Gladdy and I set up all the bedrolls,” Iris chattered, stepping closer and leaning forward to look at the piles of chopped herbs. “We put glows in each cave, and washbasins, and soapsand, and—”

“He doesn’t need all the details,” Gladio said fondly, walking up and ruffling her hair. “But, she is right. We finished our work, and we’re here to help.” Something softened in those sunset eyes, and Ignis felt himself drawn in, like the moon inexorably pulled by the tide.

“Can you chop the carrots, my lady?” Ignis pointed at the bundle and handed her an appropriate knife.

“You got it!” She grinned up at him once more before turning and setting herself to the task with a will. Ignis watched just long enough to be sure she knew her way around a knife well enough not to chop off her own fingers, and had to chuckle at the uneven pieces she was creating.

They would taste all the sweeter for being prepared so enthusiastically, he mused whimsically.

Gladio cleared his throat, and Ignis turned his focus back to the older sibling.

“What can I do?” he asked gruffly, though the sparkle in this eyes belied the rough timbre.

“How about you peel the tubers?” Ignis suggested with a wicked smirk, recalling well how often Gladio had been assigned that chore as punishment detail when he and Noctis engaged in youthful mischief.

Gladio groaned, but accepted the peeler willingly, his fingertips brushing Ignis’s. Ignis jerked his hand back as if burned, and saw Gladio’s lips curl in a pleased smirk of his own at the reaction. “Sure thing,” he said, taking the basket of tubers and moving to some empty work space on Iris’s other side.

Ignis went back to chopping - the rosemary now - and sighed inwardly. The work was simple and meditative, the sounds of the others’ slicing and dicing was soothing, and their familiar banter livened up the afternoon.

Loud footfalls broke up the moment, and Ignis turned to see the hunting party had returned. “We come bearing gifts!” Nyx announced.

“I can see that,” Ignis said wryly, eliciting a laugh from Aranea.

“Three wherries for the riders - and weyrfolk,” Crowe amended, sketching a bow in Iris’s direction. “And we scouted a wild herd the dragons can hunt from when they grow hungry.”

“Well done,” Ignis praised, echoed by similar sentiments from Gladio (Nice!) and Iris (Good job!).

“Can someone set up a spit large enough for three birds?” Ignis asked. “Set them here, please. Already field dressed? Marvelous.” The fact the birds were already gutted would save him time. “If one of you would help me pluck them?”

“I’ll help,” Aranea offered, taking one of the wherries and beginning to strip away the feathers.

“Me too,” Nyx said, surprising Ignis. He supposed he shouldn’t expect all bronze riders to have airs of superiority - Noctis certainly didn’t behave that way - but Ignis was still surprised to have a Wingleader doing kitchen scut work.

“I’ll see to the fire and the spit,” Crowe said. She leaned in and kissed Nyx, quirking a brow at him in what was apparently a shared, silent joke from the way he guffawed, and then sauntered out.

The makeshift Lower Cavern was louder than ever with the addition of two more riders on the kitchen crew. But rather than being irritated by it, Ignis enjoyed it. The din brought to mind his early days at Harper Hall in the apprentice barracks, the way there was always music and conversation all around and one just learned to sleep through it lest they never rest. It was comforting, and it was safe. You never felt alone.

Ignis didn’t realize he’d begun to sing until the conversation faded. Iris joined her youthful soprano with his baritone, and Aranea added a lovely alto harmony. Nyx and Gladio seemed content to listen, though Ignis’s keen harper-trained ears noticed both men had begun stepping more loudly, almost stomping, and in a good imitation of the drum line for this song. The duty song had a rousing melody, to be sure, and a good rhythm for repetitive work such as chopping, peeling, or plucking.

_Drummer, beat, and piper, blow,_

_Harper, strike, and soldier, go._

_Free the flame and sear the grasses_

_Till the dawning Red Star passes._

* * *

A few hours later saw them seated around a roaring fire, platters of roasted wherry, boiled tubers, and raw carrots resting in their laps. They sat on blankets on the ground, huddled together against the chill of the northern night.

Aranea couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so _free_. She had loved her past life as a mercenary guard, loved calling her own shots and setting her own schedule. Even more had she loved the life of a dragonrider, respected anywhere she went on Pern, with no expectation she’d someday wish to settle down and tend to a hold and children.

But being cooped up off Ista’s shore had been stifling, and it was a welcome change to be out on her own again. Maybe not with a mercenary group this time - they worked for no payment, but for the noble cause of Pern’s salvation. The camaraderie was similar, though, with jokes and stories being shared and an almost festival air settling over them as the fire crackled and snapped.

She thought it was fitting. After all, a sharding miracle had occurred today with the healing of Argentamth and Prompto. Aranea imagined that was what Lunafreya and Gentiana were discussing now with their heads bowed together so closely that strands of gold interwove with those of ebony.

Crowe was regaling the others with tales from her and Nyx’s early days as riders, pranks they had pulled with their deceased wingmates that amalgamated into memories of the ones they had lost. But when people began to quiet and solemnity replaced smiles, Crowe scowled.

“Libertus and the others wouldn’t want us moping around. Let’s share our stories and laugh and _remember_.”

“I used to swim with Caeluth,” Noctis spoke softly into the silence which followed Crowe’s edict. “When I was only a few Turns old. My parents and I would all go to the lake - or sometimes an Istan beach, or the Southern shore - and they would sun themselves with Reginth while Caeluth and I swam.” His voice faltered. “I miss them so much.”

Gladio reached across Iris’s skinny body to clasp one of Noctis’s hands, squeezing. On Noctis’s other side, Prompto laid a hand on his shoulder. “That’s why we gotta keep going. Because they can’t.” Tears caused burnished eyes to glisten, the effect heightened by the flickering light of the flames. “We’ll set things aright in their memory.”

Nyx raised his mug, and one by one they all followed suit. “To those who have gone _between_.”

“May they fly safely,” the group chorused the traditional response, before taking sips of their klah.

Aranea thought it might be time to break out a bottle of wine, but perhaps it was best to stick with this brew so they’d all have clear heads on the morrow. Finishing off her dinner, she rose to her feet. “Anyone else done?” She took empty plates from Gladio and Ignis, waving Ignis down when he made to stand. “You cooked; I’ll clean up.”

“I’ll help,” Prompto offered, standing and grabbing Noctis’s empty plate, stacking Lunafreya’s and Gentiana’s atop it.

“Thanks,” Aranea said distractedly as she got the rest of the dirty dishes and carried them into the Lower Cavern. After dumping them on the rock ledge they’d used as a counter earlier, she furrowed her brow. Where the fuck was she supposed to wash them?

Prompto came in, set down his stack of plates and flatware, and then left again, causing Aranea’s silvery brows to wing upward in confusion. He returned shortly carrying a washbasin, and understanding lit up olive green eyes. Going to her assigned quarters, Aranea grabbed a pouch of soapsand to scour the dishes, and returned to find Iris and Noctis pouring water into the basin from kettles that had been heating over the fire for more klah.

“Thanks!” Prompto said cheerfully. “We’ve got it from here.” Violet eyes slanted towards Aranea. “You’ve got sand?”

“Yeah.” She helped him lift the heavy, filled basin to sit on the stone outcropping beside the stacked dishes. “You wanna wash or dry?”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” he said. “Lady’s choice.”

Aranea snorted. “I’m no lady.” She grabbed a plate, a pinch of sand, and began to wash it. She passed it over to Prompto who met her eyes with a sunny smile.

“Well, you’re not a man,” he said matter-of-factly. Something sparked in those lavender depths, and Aranea found herself _noticing_ Prompto in a way she hadn’t before.

“Noticed that, have you?” she drawled, bumping her hip playfully against his as she passed him the next plate.

“Oh yeah,” he purred, so close to her ear she was startled and turned to face him.

His lips fit over hers perfectly, and she dropped a dish, the shattering pottery registering as an unremarkable thing compared to the tender slide of tongue against tongue, the wrap of wiry arms around her muscular body.

They parted for breath, though she had trouble catching hers. He peppered kisses down her neck, nibbling at the hollow of her throat. Aranea threw her head back to give him more room, and ended up looking directly at the cave entrance, where Lunafreya stood holding the empty mugs, apparently unsure if she should bring them in for washing.

Aranea hastily stepped away from the blue rider. “Let me take those, Weyrwoman,” she said, bounding forward to collect the mugs.

“My thanks,” Lunafreya said serenely, but Aranea saw the spark of humor in her deep blue eyes. Well, good. It was nice to see a gold rider as a person, not just a leader, and Aranea grinned at Lunafreya in an overture of friendship.

“You might wanna tell the others to steer clear,” Aranea suggested.

“You might want to go to your assigned quarters,” Lunafreya countered as she pushed up her sleeves. “I’ll take over here.” She grinned, brilliant and quick. “Go,” she said with a laugh.

Prompto’s smile was joyful, and he paused to incline his head to Lunafreya. “Thanks for this, Weyrwoman. And for… earlier.”

“Of course,” Lunafreya nodded at him with a kind smile.

As Aranea and Prompto walked out of the Cavern, their feet picked up speed and they found themselves running into the woods, laughing when branches caught at their hair and clothes. “We should have brought a glow!” Aranea groaned when she stumbled for what must have been the hundredth time.

And like each time before, Prompto caught her, as attuned to her movements as if they were bonded like dragon to rider. “Next time,” he snickered.

Continuing into the woods proved dangerous, and it was Aranea catching Prompto now, holding pressure to a vicious scrape on his cheek where a branch tore into his skin. “Maybe we should go back?”

His hands rest on her hips and slid down to cup her ass, pulling her flush against him. “I don’t want to go back,” he murmured. “Do you?”

Their embrace was so taut that she could feel his excitement pushing against her, which only ratcheted hers up higher. “Nope.”

And so they didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments help char _Thread_ from my sky.  <3


	15. Blinded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to [aliatori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori) for being beta-san, all remaining errors are my own. <3

Wakefulness pushed away Prompto’s dreams and he grumbled to himself, stretching weary arms and legs before sitting up on his bedroll. He saw Ignis outside, poking the banked fire into a proper blaze, a kettle of water already suspended above it for the morning klah. Focusing, Prompto could hear muted voices and the bangs and clangs of food being prepared.

They’d been in the Weyrcamp, as they were calling it, for three days now, but they’d fallen into such a predictable rhythm that to Prompto it felt like much more time had passed. Most of their hours were devoted to survival. The Benden weather was cold and harsh; they needed to find and store what food they could for themselves and also had begun tending the wild herd of cattle they had found, since it was the dragon’s preferred free range food. Today though, they would send a party to the local Smithcraft Hall, for Lunafreya wanted a flamethrower in case Thread were to fall nearby, and Gentiana had an odd idea involving crystals. Prompto hoped he could go along; he’d never been to a Smithcrafthall and thought it sounded utterly fascinating. Maybe he wasn’t much for reading, like Gladio, or song and history, like Ignis, but he was good with the few mechanical things they had in the Weyr, even helping to service the flamethrowers used by the queens’ wing.

‘Flamethrower’ was a bit of a misnomer. They did not throw flame, not in truth, but sprayed a liquid known as agenothree which destroyed the Thread as well as fire. Prompto had learned it was called HNO3 by the ancients, but the rapid nature of battle speech had slurred the sounds together to make a new word.

“How can I help?” he asked as he stepped out of the cave he shared with Noctis, who was still sleeping, and Aranea, who had almost certainly left with the other hunters before dawn - and their dragons who all still slumbered.

“Help Iris make the meatrolls,” Ignis said with a wince as a particularly loud _bang_ came from the Lower Cavern. “And wake anyone still sleeping… though I think that’s only Noctis now.” Fondness, not irritation, was wrapped around those words. Everyone knew Noctis stayed up late fishing, since most fish bit best at twilight and dawn, and he was decidedly not a morning person.

“You got it,” Prompto said, turning to head into the makeshift kitchen. Only three days… it was surreal. The proximity had forced them all to learn so much about each other so quickly and they had settled into an easy rapport. Ignis and Iris made breakfast while the hunters checked their snares. Prompto did the dishes while Lunafreya, Gentiana, and Noctis worked on… whatever it was they were doing that left them so tired and with pounding headaches. Gentiana’s friend had come yesterday, taking Noctis aside for an hour that left the young bronze rider sleeping like a baby the rest of the day. Gladio and Ignis poured over books and Records, taking trips to the Harper and Healer Halls when they needed more resources.

Nyx ran them through training exercises each evening that left them all weary and starving just in time for the evening meal, which remained a communal affair around the campfire, the tradition continued from that first night. Prompto had grown to respect Nyx greatly. Weyrlingmaster Cor had been a strong Wingleader and a strict taskmaster. Nyx, while not as experienced as Cor, had a quick way of thinking that kept them all on their toes when he’d shout out orders during drills. It made Prompto realize how much he’d missed the classes with Cor, and the training helped begin to bring them all together as a cohesive Wing, if an oddly balanced one with two bronzes, three browns, and only one blue and one green.

And one gold. Lunafreya’s insistence on joining the drills was why the trip to the Smithcraft Hall wasn’t going to wait any longer. If she allowed Fleurenth to chew firestone - and how Aranea had ‘found’ those bags of firestone while hunting, Prompto had no idea - she would be rendered as barren as a green.

He and Iris got the morning meal put together quickly enough and carried it out to the fire. The hunters had returned and Noctis had awoken; everyone was gathered around drinking klah and planning the day.

Prompto passed around the meatrolls and sat on one of the logs they’d dragged over to ring the fire after that first night of sitting on cold dirt. “Good hunting?” he asked Aranea with a grin.

“Always,” she drawled, exchanging a fist bump with Crowe. “We’ll continue eating well for the foreseeable future.”

“My ally will join us today,” Gentiana said, surprising them all enough with her topic change that the chattering fell silent. She turned her mysterious half-smile unerringly towards Noctis. “He would work with you again, if you would let him.”

“Alright,” Noctis said slowly. “If you think it would help.”

“I know it will,” she said serenely. “I will go to find the crystals we need. Lunafreya will help me.”

“I will, will I?” Lunafreya muttered with unusual ire coloring her voice. Prompto looked at her, startled. He let himself _really_ look at her.

She looked exhausted. The skin beneath her brilliant eyes was tinged purple with fatigue. It looked like she’d lost weight, too, and she hadn’t been carrying any extra on her diminutive frame. He supposed everyone had cranky days, and chalked her sour mood up to not sleeping well.

“Can I go too?” he asked, looking between his Weyrwoman and his Wingleader. They both nodded and Prompto grinned like a child on their nameday. He couldn’t wait to see the marvels a real Smithcraft Hall surely held!

“We’ll be at Altissia Hold today,” Ignis said, gesturing towards himself and Gladio. “I received permission from their Lady Holder to look at their Hold Records, and impressed upon her the necessity of the utmost discretion.”

“Want to come with us, Iris?” Gladio asked.

“Hmm,” she wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know that I want another day with musty Records. Sorry, Gladdy.”

“Perhaps you could oil Fleurenth for me,” Lunafreya said with a smile. “I will be busy, and she could use the attention.”

“Oh can I, really?!” Iris clapped her hands together. “I won’t let you down, Weyrwoman!”

“What about you three?” Prompto asked, gesturing with his chin towards the hunting party. “Coming with us?”

“I don’t think so,” Nyx said. “We have things to do here. We can make and set more snares, and work on butchering and preserving this morning’s kill.”

“I want to make a proper bow,” Crowe said. “So I’ll pass too.”

“I’ll go along with you,” Aranea said. “Having another dragon could come in handy.”

Prompto’s cheerful mood grew upon learning he’d spend the morning with Aranea. While they hadn’t shared any special closeness since that first night in the forest outside the Weyrcamp, he had a fondness and respect for Aranea that he hoped could turn into the kind of friendship she shared with Ignis.

“It sounds like we all have our tasks,” Lunafreya said, her voice still laced with that burr of annoyance. She stood, and fisted her hands on her hips. “We’d best all get to it.”

* * *

Altissia Hold was an architectural marvel. Ignis knew he was staring like a wide-eyed child and not conducting himself with the decorum of a journeyman harper nor the grace of a dragonrider, but he couldn’t help it. Statues lined the courtyard, and the Hold itself was built over a series of rivers, some natural and some man made canals. He’d heard the holders used boats to get from one part of the Hold to another - how cunning! As the massive, carved gates of the Hold swung open to admit them, Ignis’s breath caught in his throat. Everywhere he looked there was beauty to behold. It was overwhelming, and inspiring.

“My lords,” a woman in her middle ages, from her fine gown and regal bearing likely Lady Holder Camella, approached and offered them a curtsey suitable to her rank as well as theirs.

“My lady,” Ignis and Gladio said in unison, bowing respectfully.

“I hope your flight was smooth?” she asked as she led them deeper into the Hold.

“Quite,” Ignis replied distractedly, his attention focused on the detailed tapestry hanging on one side the corridor they walked through. It depicted an aerial view of the Western Continent. Ignis easily picked out the Weyr and Citadel Hold, and tried to pinpoint Tenebrae, Galahd, and Altissia as they walked. It was bittersweet to see Galahd depicted in its prime, after the ruin that had befallen it from Ardyn’s treachery.

Gladio grabbed his arm and jerked him to a stop, and Ignis pulled his eyes from the woven work of art just in time to realize he nearly walked into the door frame. A flush darkened ivory skin, and he was determined to do a better job at being present in the moment despite the wonders all around them. Now was not the time to dwell on such things; they had a mission.

“Here,” Lady Camella said, signaling a guardsman to open a massive door. “Our Records Room.” She offered a stiff smile. “If you have need of aught else, I’ll leave a servant at the door.”

“Our thanks,” Ignis said, a bit taken aback and how quick she was to leave, giving them full and unrestricted access to this treasure trove of knowledge.

She leaned closer to them and spoke softly, her words intense. “I mourn for Aulea, and Garnet. I hope you boys find what you’re looking for.” With that she was swanning down the hall away from them.

Ignis turned to Gladio, who shrugged. They entered the Records room and Ignis found himself gaping again. Why, there were _hundreds_ of books here. And thousands of ancient Record hides. Altissia Hold wasn’t that old, only a few centuries compared to the long and storied histories of places like Fort and Ruatha. How had they accumulated so much?

Gladio walked along one bookshelf, and pulled down a thick tome, blowing the dust off it before opening the cover. “This one’s a history of Lorana’s Plague.”

Ignis winced. “It seems unfair to call it that when she cured it, not caused it.

With another shrug, Gladio sat at the massive wooden table with the book. “Maybe there’s something here that can help.”

Ignis turned to inspect the rolled hides. Some looked so old, he feared the mere touch of his verdant gaze would cause them to crumble with age, and he scarcely dared to touch them. He was grateful that Camella - or whomever she employed - labeled them so clearly. Finding one marked with a famous name had him inhaling sharply in surprise and drawing it out carefully from its place on the rack.

“I found the story of Moreta’s Ride,” he breathed reverently. “Dragons didn’t sicken from that outbreak, but maybe something useful will be in the story.”

As he sat down, Gladio scoffed, and Ignis was surprised at his companion’s sudden temper. “I still feel like this is a waste of time since we know what is causing the Scourge _and_ how to cure it.”

“More knowledge never hurts,” Ignis argued. “Besides, with how draining this cure is on Lunafreya and Gentiana, I still hope we can devise an alternate course of treatment.”

Gladio nodded and went back to his book, and Ignis to his scroll. The room was silent save for the sound of turning pages, the occasional gasp at the words contained therein.

And then everything went to whershit.

“Thread!” the massive doors slammed open, framing Lady Camella, her face pale with fear. “Thread falls over Altissia! Help us, dragonriders!”

Ignis and Gladio rose as one, research forgotten. They were dragonriders, pledged to protect Pern and all her citizens. ‘Dragons must fly when Thread is in the sky.’

“Good thing Crowe insisted we carry firestone with us,” Gladio said as they ran through the Hold in the direction of their roaring, restless dragons.

The beauty and artistry of Altissia held no attraction to Ignis now; he was completely focused on their goal. “Indeed.” He was also glad they’d left the flight straps buckled to their dragons so they need not waste time applying the harnesses. All they needed to do was pull on their flight gear, mount up, and go into battle.

After shrugging into his jacket, Ignis buckled on his helmet and pulled on his gloves. His flight goggles were last, since despite the necessity when flying so fast, he hated the slight way they distorted his vision.

Gladio was already geared up and mounted. “Hurry up!”

Spectoth bowed forward so Ignis could leap up and land neatly on his back, buckling himself into place. Both dragons snaked their heads back towards their riders; both riders fed them several large chunks of firestone. The Altissian courtyard was chaotic, with panicked people running from all over to take shelter in the safety of the Hold. The grinding sound of the dragons masticating the firestone combined with the screams and shouts of the holders was giving Ignis a headache, but he paid it no mind.

Thread awaited.

He looked to Gladio. “Ready?”

“Let’s go!”

They sprang aloft with alacrity, and reached an altitude that put them above the Hold. Ignis began to skim the skies, looking for that silvery menace.

 _There!_ his dragon bellowed while bespeaking Ignis with a terse mental tone. _Thread!_

 _Tell Amicitath_ , Ignis said, _and take us there_.

It was a mess before it had begun. Two dragons were not enough to take on a Threadfall. Ignis felt a chill run down his spine recalling the Fall that Regis and Clarus had faced alone.

And how that had turned out.

 _We need help!_ he screamed with his mind, reaching out and looking for familiar dragon touches. He found Ulrith and Altiuth, Argentamth and Miyuth. _Thread Falls at Altissia! Ardyn has sent no riders!_ It was Insomnia Weyr’s sworn duty to protect the Western Continent, and where were they? Ignis had no time to wonder. He continued broadcasting as loudly as his thoughts could go. _Thread Falls at Altissia. Need help. Thread Falls. Help us!_

He had to stop trying to call for backup, though, as the Threadfall thickened. He was kept busy feeding more firestone to Spectoth, and ducking, and counting heartbeats each harrowing plunge _between_.

And then he saw the clump moving against the air current as if directed - remembered Gentiana’s caution that the Thread _was_ directed - and screamed futilely, knowing his fellow rider would never be able to hear him. “Gladio!”

 _Take us there,_ he ordered Spectoth desperately. _Get us there in time!_ Surely timing it could be forgiven in this instance, though they hadn’t practiced it much. Dire times called for equally dire measures.

They emerged from _between_ to a world of pain. The last conscious thought Ignis had was happiness that they’d pushed Gladio and Amicitath out of the way in time.

* * *

Lunafreya heard Iris crying somewhere behind her, the sound muffled against Gladio’s broad chest. She heard Aranea muttering invective as if that could erase what had happened. Nyx and Crowe were silently sitting vigil by the fire, and Prompto just stood around looking lost. But Lunafreya had no time for any of them now.

She knelt at Ignis’s side, where Gladio had laid him on his bedroll, next to the stone hollow that would never again be filled by Spectoth.

Gentiana knelt at Ignis’s head, and Noctis - along with Lunafreya’s friend, an elderly man calling himself Ramuh - knelt across from Lunafreya.

“Join hands,” Gentiana commanded softly. “I make no guarantees that we can save him. But we can try.”

Ignis had taken no physical injury. The clump of Thread they had tried to flame before it consumed Gladio and Amicitath had landed across Spectoth’s neck, eating through the flesh before they could even think of hopping _between_. His dragon’s agony had rendered Ignis unconscious as his dead dragon plummeted to the ground. Fortunately, Ignis’s mental pleas had been answered, and the rest of their makeshift Wing had arrived in time. Enormous Fleureth, keening in grief, had placed her body beneath Spectoth’s, easing him to the ground as gently as she could manage.

All the dragons sang their mournful song, and it was Noctis who asked the hard question, his tenor rough with tears he hadn’t yet permitted himself to shed. “What do we do with… the body?”

Lunafreya was almost grateful she was tending to Spectoth’s rider, so she was not expected to make this call. Nyx was the one who answered the younger bronze rider, his voice heavy with gravitas.

“We take him _between_ since he cannot take himself.”

The bronze dragons, riderless, served as Spectoth’s pallbearers. Ulrith and Lucith’s hides were dimmed with sadness, closer to an olive hue than the typical resplendent bronze. All the dragons’ multifaceted eyes whirred slowly, yellow and orange with their grief and concern for their own riders, streaks of blue as they remembered their friend.

They had all watched silently as the great beasts bore their deceased wingmate aloft, and when they vanished _between_ Gladio let out such a heart-wrenching cry that Lunafreya longed to go to him.

But she had her duty. The others would care for each other. She owed it to Spectoth to care for his rider.

Here and now, in the present, as she linked hands with Gentiana and Noctis, Lunafreya allowed her tears to fall, tracing lines through the blackdust on her cheeks. She hadn’t wanted to wash her face, she wanted to bear that evidence of their triumph over Thread for a while longer. For after the deceased brown dragon was interred _between_ , all the fighting dragons had risen to join the battle, and in due time the menace of Thread was defeated.

But at such a cost.

Aulea and Reginth. Clarus and Crailath. Regis and Caeluth. Libertus and Ostiuth. Pelna and Kharath. Kamura and Grometh. Garnet and Daggeth. And now Spectoth. Not to mention all the others who were ravaged with the scourge in the infirmaries of Insomnia.

If Lunafreya could do anything about it… she would see Ignis live, see him survive the loss of his dragon, rather than following him _between_ as was his right.

Looking at it coldly: they needed him. They needed his knowledge, needed his harper trained mind.

But to be honest with herself and admit the selfish desire: she didn’t want to lose her friend when their friendship had only barely begun.

“Tell us what to do,” she demanded of Gentiana. “Help us save him.”

“I don’t know if we can, young one,” Gentiana said, opening her fathomless brown eyes to blanket Lunafreya in a look holding so much compassion it made her weep harder. “The loss of a mind-bond is… hard to survive. To be honest, it might be a kindness to let him die. But we will try.”

Lunafreya mulled that over - a kindness to let him die - and felt her conscious prick again. Was she being terribly greedy, seeking to keep someone alive who might truly be better served by death?

But she had to try.

She listened as Gentiana’s serene voice instructed them, but truthfully, she paid the words no heed. Letting her eyes fall shut - somehow _seeing_ , while not seeing, that Noctis and Ramuh and at last Gentiana had done the same - she followed Gentiana’s powerful mind. Gentiana was touching Ignis’s consciousness, and so Lunafreya reached out with a psionic tendril to join her, to help her.

And she screamed in agony once she touched the harper’s mind.

Pain, all consuming and burning. The pain of Thread, the pain of being ripped away, the pain of being alone, all alone, so _alone_ , let me go let me die helpmehelphelp _let me di--_

She dropped Gentiana’s and Noctis’s hands and scrambled away, rending the skin of her cheeks with her nails.

“Hold her arms!” Gentiana cried, and Lunafreya felt strong hands wrench her hands from her bleeding face.

And then Noctis was squatting in front of her, those cerulean eyes of his seeming alien, pupils blown so wide she could barely see the twilight blue she’d grown to enjoy in their lessons with the Prime. She saw his lips moving, but couldn’t hear his words. For despite the way she drew back, her mind was still linked to Ignis’s, and while she did not truly help, she felt Gentiana lead him from unconsciousness. Felt that sorrow increase exponentially with each increment closer he drew to wakefulness, and she screamed until her throat was sore and she ran out of breath. And then Lunafreya passed out, which was a mercy.

* * *

When she came to, it was dark. The entire day had passed while she was unconscious. She was alone, and momentarily terrified, still feeling the trailing edge of Ignis’s emotions. Reaching out, she felt Fleurenth at her side, the dragon somnolent with sleep. Reaching farther, she found the familiar mind touches of each her friends in turn, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

Lunafreya rolled off her bedroll and pressed herself to Fleurenth’s neck. _Wake up, my darling. Wake up. Please. I need you._

 _What is it?_ Fleurenth opened her eyes, colored yellow with alarm. _Are you hurt? What has happened?_

And Lunafreya had to laugh, for dragonkind’s poor short term memory had already erased today’s tragedy from Fleurenth’s mind. _I just wanted to hear your voice,_ she settled on, not wanting to upset her dragon further. _Go back to sleep. I love you._

Fleurenth rumbled agreement and was out like a turned glow in no time. Lunafreya stood on shaky legs, took a fortifying breath, and walked out to the campfire.

Tonight - their fourth night, what felt like their four hundredth - the campfire was not a place of song and story. Her companions ate methodically, save for those who were on work detail.

Not feeling hungry, and not certain she could keep food down if she tried, Lunafreya went and sat at Noctis’s side.

“Where are Gentiana and Ramuh?”

“They said they needed to talk,” Noctis replied. “Promised to be back in the morning.” He lowered his volume. “Honestly, I think they wanted to give us all… time.”

Lunafreya looked around and found only Nyx and Crowe at the fire, in addition to herself and Noctis. “Where are the others?”

“Prompto asked Aranea to teach him to hunt.” Noctis laughed, but it sounded hollow, devoid of joy. “I think he just wanted to be busy. Iris is washing dishes. Ignis is… in his cave. Gladio keeps going between Ignis and Iris as if he can’t decide who he’s supposed to look after more. I wish he’d just eat something and sleep, he really needs it after almost dying today.”

“We’re here, though,” Nyx interrupted, and Lunafreya’s brow lifted. He sounded _drunk_.

“Yep,” Crowe swayed, and ended up slumped against her lover. “We don’t have many Ignis stories, but we honor him as we honor our other friends who have gone before.” She took her mug and poured some of it out into the dirt between her feet.

“But Ignis isn’t dead,” Noctis insisted angrily. “He’s… resting.”

“Have you ever been around one of the dragonless, lad?” Nyx asked harshly. “Better for them not to live.”

“How can you say that?” Lunafreya cried out. “He lived. He survived. That’s a _good_ thing.”

“Is it?” Crowe asked, her words holding the total clarity of the deeply inebriated.

“That is… yet to be determined.” Lunafreya did a double take, realizing Ignis had spoken, it was Ignis lowering himself awkwardly to sit on an empty log. That voice… it was so sad, so bereft, not the usual rolling, accented timbre of his Tenebraean heritage colored with years at the Harper Hall.

 _Fleurenth, how is he?_ Lunafreya regretted waking her dragon a second time in such a short span, but she had to know.

 _He will not hear me,_ the gold replied sadly. _He has closed his mind to us all._

“Gentiana!” Ignis shouted. “Ramuh! I know neither of you went far.”

The two Primes appeared a breath later, as if truly they had been here all along. They seated themselves on the only empty log remaining, one between Ignis, and Nyx and Crowe.

“Fix my mind,” Ignis demanded. “Make it whole again. I can’t live like this. I can’t _think_ like this!”

“Nothing can cure what ails you, brown rider,” Gentiana whispered, her eyes gleaming with compassion, and unshed tears.

“Don’t call me that!” Ignis screamed, fury filling his green eyes. “I have no right to that title. Not anymore.”

“Journeyman harper, then,” Ramuh said calmly. “We can do nothing for you but share in your grief. I am sorry.”

The clearing grew still and silent, save for the crackle and hiss of the fire, unless Ignis spoke again.

“You’re wrong,” he said softly, his words tinged with bitter laughter. “You can do something.” He stared at the Primes, and Lunafreya found herself holding her breath. “You can help us stop this. You can help us save Pern.”

“We shall,” Gentiana vowed, Ramuh bowing his head in accord.

Lunafreya released her breath in a shuddering sigh. It seemed purpose would compel Ignis to live now, purpose would rule his days and keep him moving.

She only hoped that - someday - he could allow himself to find some joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and I greatly appreciate any comments and kudos you choose to leave. <3


	16. Bonded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this makes sense, it's cause of [aliatori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori)'s hard work as beta-san. Go check out their stories if you haven't -- you won't be disappointed!

Aranea volunteered immediately for the return to Smithcraft Hall. A sevenday had passed since the devastating loss of Spectoth, and today was the day Mastersmith Cid had told them their commission would be prepared. So Aranea, Prompto, and Noctis had left straight after breakfast, bowing out from their usual tasks to go collect the flamethrower and the quartz crystals. Between them all, they’d come up with enough coin to pay the extremely dear fee, but Aranea still hoped that there was some room for negotiation. Surely saving the world was more important than making a profit. But, then, she’d heard all the rumors about smiths and their miserly ways, she’d just never met one and confirmed - or disproven - the stories.

As they waited in the courtyard, Aranea crossed her arms impatiently. Prompto looked around in wonder, clearly itching to get his hands on the amazing devices on display in the decorative glass cases. Noctis looked bored, but Aranea knew that was just the way his face looked in repose. He was likely feeling more anxious than she was, eager to get back to the Weyrcamp and get back to work. Cid did not come out to greet them, but after a quarter of an hour a young blonde woman sauntered out, and Aranea narrowed her eyes. The woman wore journeyman patches on the shoulders of her leather jacket, and had a huge smear of grease across one tanned cheek. Her blue eyes sparkled with amusement and intelligence, and her voice echoed the inflection and accent of Cid’s.

“Sorry to keep y’all waiting,” she drawled, one hand resting on her hip. “It’s been a busy day.”

“Where’s Cid?” Noctis demanded, showing a hint of that stereotypical bronze rider arrogance.

“He’s not feeling too well,” Cindy said sadly. “I’m his granddaughter. He asked me to see to your needs today, if that will suit.”

“That’ll be fine,” Aranea interjected before Noctis could further indulge whatever mood had fallen over him. “Do you have our order ready?”

“Yep,” Cindy confirmed, leading them into the Mastersmith’s office. “One flamethrower, two extra tanks of agenothree, and assorted black quartz crystals - though if you don’t mind me sayin’, I have no idea what you want those for.”

“Me either,” Prompto grinned at her. Aranea was surprised to feel jealousy, which she quickly squashed. It wasn’t like shortcake belonged to her, nor she to him. “But we need them all the same.”

“It’ll be 120 marks, all told,” Cindy said with an apologetic tone. “I know that’s a lot, but it takes a lot of work to mine crystals of the size y’all asked for.”

“Let me see them,” Noctis said, and Aranea noted that rather than demanding, he now sounded desperate.

Cindy lifted a wooden crate onto Cid’s desk and slowly unwrapped a set of nine crystals. The largest one was the size of a human head, the littlest the size of her smallest finger joint, Aranea guessed.

Noctis walked forward and ran his hand over each piece of black quartz in turn, starting with the small one. When he touched the king crystal, he gasped, and his eyes glowed an eerie magenta color.

Well. _That_ was different. Aranea felt ill at ease, but assumed this had to do with the training Gentiana and Ramuh were giving to Noctis and Lunafreya.

As the others looked on, Noctis rewrapped the crystalline rocks reverentially, hefting the case. “Pay her, and get the rest,” he said absently as he hastened out, presumably to attach the precious cargo to his bronze dragon.

Aranea rolled her eyes, and she saw Cindy grin. “Bronze riders, am I right?”

“If you say so, brown rider,” Cindy said carefully, but her blue eyes twinkled. “Here’s the flamethrower and the agenothree tanks.”

“Here’s your payment.” Her earlier thoughts of negotiation had vanished with Noctis’s odd behavior. “Our thanks for your silence on our patronage.”

“Of course,” Cindy said, sounding affronted. “You let us know if we can do anything else. I’m sorry we had to charge you so much, but other dragonriders haven’t been as… polite. We need to make enough profit to live.”

“I understand.” Aranea hefted the flamethrower while Prompto picked up the spare tanks. “Thank you again.”

She was surprised when she got to the courtyard and found Noctis and Lucith were nowhere to be found, but the crate of black crystal was still sitting there. Slanting an inquisitive look at Prompto, the blue rider shrugged, clearly as confused as she was.

“Well, let’s get the cargo strapped on, and head back to Weyrcamp,” she said briskly, adding the crate to Miyuth’s burdens. The brown was strong and could easily handle a little box of rocks.

When they arrived back at Weyrcamp, it didn’t take a genius to figure out why Noctis had vanished so precipitously. In the meadow with the wild cattle herd, three dragons fed: Fleurenth, Lucith, and Ulrith.

“She’s rising?” Aranea asked Crowe.

The older brown rider nodded curtly. “She is. With only two bronzes to choose from... not ideal. We were considering letting the browns fly, too.”

_Do you want to chase Fleurenth?_

_I’m sleepy._

“Miyuth isn’t interested,” Aranea said dryly.

“Altiuth is,” Crowe said, “but I don’t think he can keep up with bronzes. It would mostly be for Fleurenth’s ego, and no offense to our resident queen, but with everything else going on that isn’t my top concern.” Her eyes flashed. “Maybe there’s only two bronzes here to fly her, but… quality over quantity, right?”

Aranea wondered at Crowe’s pragmatism, when her lover was one of those two bronzes. Whoever was bonded to the dragon that flew Fleurenth would become Weryleader-in-exile; Lunafreya and her newly chosen consort would take over the Weyr leadership after their team liberated Insomnia Weyr from Ardyn’s insane clutches.

A raucous scream pierced the air, and both women looked to the sky, watching the golden streak of Fleurenth soar overhead, followed by the pair of bronzes.

Perhaps her dragon wasn’t taking part in the flight, but Aranea wasn’t immune to the outpouring of emotions coming from the dragons involved. She wondered where Prompto was, but realized that Crowe couldn’t similarly seek out her own lover and thought maybe she should keep her company in solidarity.

“It’s okay,” Crowe said, as if reading Aranea’s mind. “Go to him. I’ll be fine.”

Aranea went.

* * *

Lunafreya laughed, spinning where she stood in the middle of the cave she shared with no one. Why would she share? She was the queen; she deserved the privacy. Joined so completely with Fleurenth’s mind, Lunafreya was not consciously aware of how her motions mimicked those of the golden queen. Fleurenth would dive, and Lunafreya would crouch. Fleurenth delighted in repeated barrel rolls, and Lunafreya pirouetted where she stood.

She was Fleurenth, and Fleurenth was Lunafreya.

They were soaring high, wingfree and unconquerable!

Only two bronzes chased them, and Fleurenth bugled shrilly at the insult of it all. Only two! But, both were worthy beasts. Ulrith was seasoned, serving as Wingleader for years. Lucith was younger but in his prime. Neither Lunafreya nor Fleurenth had any problem being ‘caught’ by either bronze flying after them.

 _If_ either of them could catch her. Snaking her long neck around, Fleurenth warbled flirtatiously at the pursuing bronzes before rolling into a deep dive, flying so close to a mountain that she felt a spray of snow lifted by the air currents buffet the scales of her underside.

She turned leisurely, winding her way over the mountain range, going north until the thin air became too much. Then she turned around on her tail-tip, a maneuver usually limited to greens, but after only blooding her kills and being filled with the thrill of the mating flight, even Fleurenth’s massive bulk could move sinuously today.

She turned and headed south, swaying her head from side-to-side. Where did her bronzes go?

And then a neck entwined her hers and she straightened her wings out to catch the breeze, to keep her from plummeting in surprise, and then--

Back in the Weyrcamp cave, Lunafreya’s nails dug into her lover’s shoulders as she lost herself in the moment, riders and dragons completely together in this intimate time.

* * *

In the woods, Aranea and Prompto came together, the former cursing as the heady emotions of the queen’s flight rolled her, the latter crying out and clinging more tightly to his lover.

* * *

Even Ignis was stirred, despite closing his mind to the dragons, and Gladio found himself besieged by hungry, sloppy kisses. He wasn’t sure how Ignis would feel the proverbial morning after, so while it took an effort - he was affected by the flight too, dammit - he kept it to passionate kisses.

This time.

* * *

Nyx woke up, smiling at the feeling of slim arms twined around his waist. Without opening his eyes, he brushed a kiss against his lover’s forehead, not minding the way the skin was rough from long hours in the wind adragonback. “Good morning, beautiful.”

“Hey, hero,” Crowe looked up at him with a lazy smile. “You okay?” Her normal confidence faded, and Nyx saw uncertainty paint her strong features for a moment. “Being… here?”

“Crowe,” Nyx said, wrapping strong arms around her and rolling her atop him, staring up into her gorgeous brown eyes. “My love, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

They kissed, and stayed there for a while.

* * *

When Noctis woke up it was with a groan. Shells, he felt like he’d only just fallen asleep; he wished he could stay in bed all day, but knew he had responsibilities to see to. Trying to get up baffled him when he discovered a warm weight across his middle, pinning him to the bedroll. Blinking bleary twilight eyes, the pale blur sharpened into Lunafreya’s face in profile, her blonde hair a messy blanket across Noctis’s stomach, her cheek pressed beneath his ribs.

Memories of the previous afternoon - and night - and earlier this morning - flooded back into the bronze rider’s mind and he flushed crimson.

 _It was a good flight_ , Lucith said with a trill of happiness. _Fleurenth will clutch well._

 _Don’t count the eggs before they’re laid_ , Noctis replied chidingly, though inwardly he agreed. The dragons had flown high and long, and everyone knew the longer the duration the flight, the more eggs would come of it. He wondered if there would be a gold egg - Faranth only knew they needed it after losing so many weyrwomen and their bonded queens this past year.

“Noctis,” Lunafreya’s voice was sleep-blurred and _wonderful_ , the way it shaped the syllables of his name. “Stop thinking so loud.”

He waited until those sylleblossom blue eyes fluttered open and then met them with a lascivious smirk. “Make me.”

And so she did.

* * *

They surfaced for lunch, and Noctis figured it was only Iris’s presence that kept the ribbing relatively low. Though Noctis gave as good as he got, plucking a leaf from Prompto’s hair with a muttered ‘another walk in the woods, huh?’ and staring pointedly at the lovebite on Gladio’s shoulder as he passed by.

“Congratulations, Weyrleader,” Nyx said, and Noctis felt every bit of blood drain from his face. He swayed on his feet, and was grateful for Gladio’s quick action, grabbing his shoulder and helping him lower to sit on one of the logs circling the crackling fire.

“I… what?”

“You flew the queen,” Crowe said pragmatically. “And you can’t imagine any of us wish to follow Ardyn after what he’s done.”

“But, Nyx… you’re older, you have the experience.”

Nyx laughed and waggled a finger. “I’m happy to be Wingleader. You’ll do fine. You’ve had your father’s example your entire life, just follow that.”

“And know we’re all here to help you,” Gladio said gruffly.

Noctis looked around at each his friend’s in turn. Loyal Gladio, his oldest friend. Cheerful Prompto, with his ready smile. Melancholy Ignis, whom he hoped would find something new to sing about. Aranea, and Crowe, and Nyx, and Iris. Gentiana and Ramuh.

Straightening his shoulders, Noctis lifted his chin. “Alright. We’ve got work to do.”

* * *

After lunch, Gladio had chosen to join the hunting team. Lunafreya and Noctis had been given a few hours respite from their mental exercise with the Primes, and so the makeshift Lower Cavern was filled with more than sufficient willing hands to prepare ingredients for the evening meal. Truth be told, Gladio could’ve used a few hours with a good book and no people, but he was far too responsible to slip away and find peace when there was work to be done.

Truthfully, he knew little of hunting. But it was pleasant to forge a path through the woods. He listened to his companions’ banter more than taking part in it, and that was nice, too. Over these past days in exile, they’d all truly bonded, and Gladio hoped that after they’d defeated Ardyn and retaken Insomnia Weyr, they could all stay together as a Wing. Sure, they’d need to add more riders, but they would form its core.

Eventually they were all so laden with fowl and small game from the snares that they made their way back into camp. Gladio volunteered to take the meat for tonight’s meal into the kitchen cave. They preferred to eat from fresh when it was available, even though they salted and preserved the excess from prior hunts. Waste not, want not. When he entered, he was surprised to find Ignis alone, surrounded by piles of chopped herbs and diced vegetables.

The former brown rider was standing, leaning against the rock shelf that served as his prep counter. He was staring as if his verdant gaze could somehow penetrate the rock wall inches from his face, clearly lost in thought.

When he noticed Gladio standing there, he startled visibly. “Ah, the wherries. My thanks.”

“You need help with them?” Gladio laid them out where Ignis had indicated, and began plucking feathers before his question could be answered.

“… my thanks,” Ignis repeated, taking the other bird and doing the same.

They worked in silence, but this time, it wasn’t companionable - it was strained. Gladio noticed that Ignis kept opening his mouth, clearly ready to speak, but then he’d snap it shut so forcefully the click was audible to Gladio and they weren’t standing that close.

After the seventh time, Gladio couldn’t take it anymore. He brushed his hands off on his pants, turned to Ignis, and pinned him with an amber stare. “What is it?”

“I…” Ignis’s hands moved faster, rubbing seasonings into the meat of his cleaned wherry before taking Gladio’s and plucking the last few feathers. “I wanted to thank you.”

“You already did. Twice.” Gladio’s voice rang with stark confusion. Kitchen help hardly warranted one thank you, let alone three. They all pitched in, that was how things worked at the Weyr and it was how things worked at the Weyrcamp.

“No,” Ignis shook his head slowly with a sigh. He finally allowed his hands to still, though they clenched around the edge of rock before him. “For… last night.”

Understanding dawned quick and clear. “Don’t owe me thanks for that either,” Gladio rumbled. “It was the right thing to do.”

“But not everyone would have done it.” Ignis’s eyes were wide and sincere when he raised them from the poultry, and Gladio felt like he could fall into that brilliant green gaze. The shade was nearly the same as Amicitiath when she glowed with good humor, how had he never noticed before?

He shrugged, not certain what to say, but not wanting this moment to end. “You’re welcome.”

Gladio was good at reading people. But here he failed, because he never expected Ignis to surge forward and press the softest of kisses at the corner of his mouth.

He could hear Amicitath sing her approval, trilling from where she rested in their cave. And so Gladio raised his wide-palmed hands to bracket Ignis’s sharp cheekbones, leaned in, and used his lips to convey everything he’d been thinking - been _feeling_ \- and dreaming about.

“Hey, are those birds ready yet? We’ve got the fire bui—whoa!” Prompto laughed in surprise. “Sorry, guys, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Not a problem,” Ignis said smoothly, lifting one wherry. “Gladio, could you bring the other please? Prompto, the vegetables?”

Gladio watched Ignis walk out of the Lower Cavern and chuckled quietly to himself. Well, _that_ had been unexpected. And wonderful. He followed his friends to the fire and put the bird on the spit to roast before sitting down next to his sister. Sure, things were dire. They were literally on the run for their lives while trying to prepare to take down Ardyn and those of The Six who wished Pern harm. But moments of unexpected joy like that kiss, like Iris finding the flower that was her namesake, like Prompto managing to spear a rabbit, made it all brighter.

He felt hopeful about the future. With a will, Gladio added his thoughts to the planning.

It would be time to return to Insomnia Weyr soon, and by the First Egg, Gladio would be ready.

* * *

“But how do rocks help with focusing mental powers?” Noctis asked frustratedly.

Prompto was trying to follow the conversation, but once they’d all been tested, and confirmed that none other than Noctis and Lunafreya had the inherent ability to perform these tasks, he and the others hadn’t had much to do with the Primes.

“The black crystals serve as a focus,” Gentiana explained patiently. “Back on our worlds, we have machines - gestalts - we can tap into to augment our psychic skills. But here, the only gestalt is on our ship,” her normally serene features crumpled into a brief grimace before smoothing, “and I cannot bring it here. It is a part of the ship, and my former allies would notice it’s loss immediately.”

“The science isn’t important,” Ramuh picked up the explanation. “Just know that something in the makeup of pure crystal serves as a conduit and amplifier for the power of our minds. Black crystal most of all. A set like this would go for millions of credits back home.” He ran covetous hands through the air above the arrayed crystal set.

“Well, you can have ‘em when we’re done,”Noctis said. “I just want to go back to the Weyr and take care of my people.” He shot a sidelong glance at Lunafreya. “Our people.”

Prompto saw Lunafreya’s smile and felt warmed by it, even from his place across the fire. “We will save them, Noctis. I know it.”

Beside Prompto, Aranea yawned. “I don’t understand why we have to be here for this. Our role won’t be the same.” She frowned and spoke louder. “Hey, what _will_ our role be? Noctis and Lunafreya will be fighting the real battle, from what you’ve said. But what of us?”

“While they are so deeply into their own minds, they will be defenseless. As shall we.” Gentiana’s mien was as serious as Prompto had ever seen her. “You will be our protectors. For you are not without powers, even if you are not natural Primes as they are.”

Aranea patted the boot that housed her dagger, a remnant from her mercenary days. “I may not have my lance,” she said regrettably, “but I’ll do what I can.”

“We all will,” Prompto added.

Gentiana rose, drawing all eyes to her. “We four will stay here, at Weyrcamp,” she said, gracefully arcing one arm to include Ramuh, Noctis, and Lunafreya. “The rest of you will return to Insomnia Weyr to subdue Ardyn’s forces on the ground. You have your battlefield… and we have ours.”

“I’m staying here,” Gladio said. “What if they figure out the hiding place? You just said moments ago that you all would be so focused you wouldn’t notice what was happening in the physical world.” His glare was fierce and determined. “I’m not letting anything happen to you while you fight.”

“I will stay too,” Ignis said. “I’m… not ready to face a Weyr full of dragons, truth be told.”

“Ignis, no,” Nyx argued. “With your inherent talent to hear all dragons, we need you on the infiltration team.”

Prompto saw the pain that flashed over Ignis’s face before the former brown rider controlled his emotions, smoothing his face to blankness. “I suppose… it is my duty.”

Crowe leaned over and squeezed Ignis’s shoulder. “You can do this.”

“You can fly with me,” Aranea offered. “Miyuth likes you.”

“Very well,” Ignis said brusquely, looking down into the fire.

“So, it’s settled,” Nyx said. “I’ll lead a Wing formed of myself, Crowe, Ignis, Aranea, and Prompto back to Insomnia to try and incapacitate Ardyn’s forces. Gentiana, Lunafreya, Noctis, and Ramuh will wage their battle from here, with Gladio serving as guard.”

“Tomorrow,” Noctis said decisively. “Unless, you don’t think we’re ready?”

Prompto felt a thrill of terror and excitement course through him as he waited to see how the Primes would answer.

“Tomorrow,” Gentiana agreed, those lustrous eyes of hers opening wide, somber and encouraging and a million other things shining therein that Prompto couldn’t begin to name. “You are all ready.”

Insomnia Weyr had been the first true home Prompto had, and as he looked around the fire, he realized with a lump in his throat that he finally had a family, too. They’d been through so much together, and he wanted to go through so much more with these wonderful people.

So, they had to win tomorrow. For Pern. For Insomnia.

For each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Your kudos and comments inspire me to keep going, thanks so much for all your lovely feedback! <3


	17. Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the ever-amazing [aliatori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori)! All remaining errors are on me. <3

The day dawned crisp and clear. Nyx watched as the night faded into the pastel kaleidoscope of sunrise, watched the way the colors painted across the cerulean sky, felt the welcome warmth on his scarred face. He hadn’t slept at all. Over his years as Wingleader, the greatest challenge Nyx had faced was preparing his Wing to compete in the games, and he’d always been up all night before those, too.

But there was so much at stake today.

They could fail. That was a real possibility. Nyx didn’t fully comprehend this mental fight that the Weyrleaders and Primes would engage in, but he knew it was a crap-shoot.

They could die. Nyx had been branded traitor, Crowe and Aranea proclaimed dead, and Prompto and Ignis defected. Just by setting foot in an Insomnia controlled by Ardyn, they were putting their lives at risk.

Nyx wasn’t too worried about himself. He was nearly forty years old and he’d had a good life. His only real regret was he’d never managed to get Crowe with child, but they’d had a good life together, the two of them and their friends.

Maybe when this was all over, they could foster a whole passel of kids. “Up all night, hero?” Crowe’s voice was like music, a song Nyx never tired of hearing. To think he may not hear it again after today brought tears to his eyes that he didn’t bother trying to hide.

“Hey, what’s all this?” Crowe squatted in front of him, laying her hands on his knees. “Why the tears? We got this, Nyx. We’ll be back home and in our own weyr by sundown.”

“What if we aren’t?” Nyx ground out. “We aren’t just facing Threadscore here. We’re facing people who want us dead.”

“We’re together,” Crowe said fiercely, eyes snapping with so much certainty, Nyx longed to believe her. “We’ll figure it out.”

Nyx’s thoughts were a chaotic snarl of worry. _But what if we can’t this time? What if I lose you? What if I die and leave you alone?_ What if, what if, what if.

Ulrith roused and keened, and Nyx guilty stretched his mind toward that of his dragon. _Sorry, old friend._

 _You are troubled_ , Ulrith said. Nyx was aware that Crowe had risen, had taken him in her arms and was murmuring soft words he couldn’t wrap his brain around while he held on to her tightly, quiet tears spilling from cerulean eyes.

 _I’m scared_ , Nyx admitted. _I don’t want to lose her. Or you. Or anyone else._

 _You will never lose me,_ Ulrith said with draconic pragmatism. _We are one._

 _I love you_ , Nyx flooded their bond with all the love of decades as partners filled his heart. _Rest now, dear friend._

 _Take your own advice_ , were Ulrith’s parting words before he fell back into sleep.

Nyx waited until his tears stopped and blinked them away as best he could. The ones clinging to his eyelashes sparkled like little prisms in the rising sun’s light.

He reached out and unwound Crowe’s strong arms from around him, standing so that he could face her. Nyx was always surprised at how much taller he was, for Crowe had always seemed larger than life to him. He looked down at her, and he allowed his smile to unfurl slowly like a flower seeking that sun. A hint of curve to his lips, a sparkle to his eyes, incrementally blossoming with every beat of his loving heart.

She grinned up at him, and reached out to cup his cheek. “We gotta get ready, love. We leave for Insomnia after the morning meal.”

“Something I need to do first,” Nyx said, his grin edging towards his typical brashness. Dropping a kiss on her forehead, he turned and walked away, calling out a moment before he walked into the kitchen cave. He’d heard about what young Prompto had walked in on last night, and didn’t want to interrupt what happiness others were finding.

“Yes?” Ignis looked up from where he scrubbed tubers, lifting a brow in query.

“You’re needed at the fire, harper. I wish you had a guitar with you, but we’ll make due. Come on!” Not waiting, assuming Ignis would follow, Nyx headed out and walked along the rocky openings of the caves they called home. “Hey! Wake up! Get out here, you lazy lot!” he yelled in his sternest Wingleader voice before heading back to the fire.

Crowe waited for him with a perplexed expression. “What are you up to?” she asked slowly as their friends filed over to ring the fire.

Ignis walked up, and judging by the knowing smirk he was clearly trying to repress, he’d caught on before Crowe had.

Nyx knelt before Crowe, and reached to take both her hands in his, letting his smile - his mask - fall away. With her, he had no wish to hide; for this, he wanted to show sincerity as he so rarely did to any save for her.

“Marry me, Crowe.” He realized perhaps he should have made the words more a question than a statement, but this wasn’t the time to second guess himself as he waited to see if she’d accept his offer. It was one he’d thought about many times over the years, but when they’d discussed it, they’d always fallen back on the ways of the Weyr. No weyrfolk or riders truly formalized ties there the same was as Holders and Craftspeople did, though Nyx wasn’t certain why. Maybe it was a throwback to the old days of constant Threadfall, to not knowing if your lover would still be with you the next day.

But to Nyx, that was whershit. He wanted to go into this battle bound to Crowe in every way possible, customs be damned. If today was to be his last day alive, he wanted to spend it as hers, wanted her to be his, and wanted all their friends to witness it here at this Weyrcamp that was their temporary home.

He heard the dragons warble and was easily able to pick out the distinct voices of Ulrith - awake again, oops - and Altiuth. He loved Altiuth almost as much as he loved Ulrith, the four of them had been together for so long. Nyx thought back to that day on the Hatching Sands Turns ago, how horrified he’d been when he’d Impressed a bronze after Crowe joined with a brown. But she’d said they could find a way - and they had. How young he’d been back then, how black and white his thoughts.

Now he couldn’t imagine it any other way, would never dream to imagine them bonded to any different dragons.

 _You are good for her_ , a voice broke in on Nyx’s thoughts, and it wasn’t Ulrith. He gasped, recognizing it as a masculine, draconic echo of Crowe’s voice. Altiuth had never honored him with direct speech and it made tears burn at his eyes again.

He pulled himself away from that wondrous occurrence to look at Crowe, who still hadn’t answered him. She stood there, lips pursed, dark eyes sparkling as she regarded him. When she pulled on his hands, Nyx stood up, cocking his head to one side and favoring her with his cockiest grin. “Well?”

“I’ve been at your side this many years,” Crowe said, no hint of teasing in her voice despite the way her eyes glinted, “and I expect at least as many more again.” She squeezed his hands and leaned towards him, going up on her toes to steal a passionate kiss. “If you’ll do the honor, harper?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Ignis said, his baritone voice rolling melodically as he made a clear shift from his typical demeanor into his harper persona.

Nyx couldn’t remember a single word that was said, but he’d attended enough matrimonial ceremonies over the years to have a general idea. He spoke when Ignis indicated, watched the way Crowe’s lips shaped the words when it was her turn to make vows. Throughout it all, they stayed hand-clasped, and when it was done, their friends gathered around to offer back-slaps and words of well-wishing.

But he had eyes only for her and couldn’t tear his gaze away from her wind-toughened face.

This time when they kissed, it felt different somehow. Nyx wasn’t certain why or how, but it was intense and consuming, and he heard their dragons trill approvingly from where they roosted.

 _Now_ Nyx was certain. They would all survive, each and every one of them. They would win this battle, and free Insomnia from Ardyn’s clutches.

There was nothing he couldn’t do with Crowe at his side.

* * *

Mounted up behind Aranea, Ignis tried to ignore the roiling in his gut, struggled to maintain mastery over the virulent miasma of his emotions. It felt wrong being on a dragon’s back that wasn’t his own. That thought led to another, and Ignis let himself open up his mind and really _feel_ his loss, feel that emptiness, like part of his mind was gone forever. And it was. He could never get that wholeness back, could never fill it with something else.

He was a dragonrider without a dragon, with no right to the title any longer. But he would do the duty entrusted upon him the day of his Impression: he would protect Pern and her people at all cost.

Dropping the last barriers he’d put into place around his wounded psyche, Ignis felt the distinct mental touches of all his wingmates’ - his _friends’_ \- dragons, allowed himself to soak up their relief and joy and him hearing them again.

 _Nyx asks if you would coordinate_ , Ulrith spoke in his mind clearly. _You know the plan. You direct us in our fight._

 _Very well_ , Ignis agreed. It made sense, after all. _Everyone, get your coordinates from Ulrith._ He paused, sensing the dragons all forming the image of their targeted re-entry point from _between_ , the abandoned Gather field outside ruined Galahd. From there, they would fly stealthily, stopping a few dragonlengths outside of Tenebrae and continuing on foot. _Transfer on my mark. One. Two. Three. Now!_

With a whoosh of displaced air, they went _between_. After they emerged above Galahd, Ignis took a deep breath.

Now the real challenge began.

* * *

Lunafreya shaded her eyes with one slim hand as she watched their friends reach a safe altitude and disappear _between_. She fervently hoped they would all meet again, after… well, _after_.

She went into the cave which had served as her and Fleurenth’s quarters. It was the largest cave save the Lower Cavern, and far less cluttered than the other. Her allies were already waiting for her there, sitting on three points of a square that she would complete. Her and Noctis’s dragons had found points to rest on the craggy mountains, keen faceted eyes keeping watch. Gladio paced the perimeter of Weyrcamp, his eyes and ears alert for any approach.

It was time. Lunafreya sat in her designated spot, and offered Noctis a tremulous smile. The warmth in his face when he returned it bolstered her spirits, and she straightened her spine before looking to the Primes for guidance.

“Join hands,” Gentiana instructed calmly. “Breathe.”

The first part order was easy. Lunafreya reached out and clasped hands with Noctis and Gentiana, watching as they clasped hands with Ramuh, completing the circuit. The second command, though… Lunafreya didn’t bother trying to strive for the serenity befitting a Lady Holder or a Weyrwoman.

She was terrified.

Her breathing reflected her mood, coming in shallow, jittery pants that would have immediately betrayed any attempt at tranquility she’d mustered, had she bothered. “It would work better if we had a Singer,” Ramuh muttered cantankerously.

“But we don’t,” Gentiana said breezily, “and their minds will suffice. Surely you can feel how powerful they are, even untrained.”

Gentiana’s eyes shot open, startling Lunafreya with their depth and clarity. The Prime smiled brilliantly, and Lunafreya found herself smiling back reflexively, even as Gentiana turned to face Ramuh directly.

“My old friend, the crystals themselves will sing. Have faith.”

Ramuh harrumphed but straightened, his eyes going unfocused, trained towards the middle of their square. “Open yourselves, children.”

Lunafreya felt Noctis bristle at the form of address, but compared to these two who had lived for so long - had learned so much - what were they but mere children?

 _You are riders_ , Fleurenth said fiercely, echoed by Lucith’s trumpeting cry.

Taking steady, even breaths, Lunafreya retreated from her conscious mind to the place she’d been practicing attaining with Gentiana’s guidance. It was a sort of mental _between_ , the pathway between dreaming and waking.

It was where her latent power had lain dormant, until she’d been shown how to use it.

“Good,” Gentiana praised.

Lunafreya looked up despite herself, her eyes going to Noctis: that dear, sweet bronze rider she wished she’d had more time to know. _After_ she promised herself, fascinated by the ring of magenta around his pupils. Did her eyes look like that too? Ramuh’s didn’t. Gentiana’s didn’t.

Filing that away to mull over later, Lunafreya waited for the Primes’ next instruction.

* * *

Aranea had plenty of time to think on the hours-long flight from Galahd to Insomnia, her breathing naturally falling into the same steady cadence as Miyuth’s wing-beats. Ignis was pressed tightly to her back, partially to ward himself from the brisk winds and partially to enable him to speak to her directly rather than via her dragon.

“Do you really think this will work?” he asked, any emotion coloring the words stolen by the necessity of shouting.

“It has to!” she bellowed back. If it didn’t, one thing was for sure. She was gonna take Miyuth and leave. Maybe some other Weyr would take them on. Aranea wasn’t going to spend another moment beneath Ardyn’s rule, and if they failed today, she would do her best to single-handedly rally all the Weyrs of Pern to save the Insomnians from his selfish cruelty.

The massive crater of Insomnia Weyr came into view, nipping their conversation in the bud. Aranea realized she was digging her fingers in where they clutched one of Miyuth’s neck ridges and she softened her grip. Not that she could hurt her dragon with the touch of her hand, no matter how tight, but she needed to stay loose, needed to try and calm her turbulent emotions and keep a clear head for the fight ahead.

For while the others hoped there wouldn’t be one, Aranea had been a soldier too long to mistake this for anything but what it was.

They were riding to battle.

Another hour and they were circling to land. But when Ulrith roared in alarmed challenge, Aranea looked around to see what had gotten the bronze’s attention.

There! A phalanx of four dragons were coming into focus as they gained altitude, on a direct course to collide with Aranea and her wingmates. She couldn’t make out who they were, but she had her guesses. They were close enough for her to see the colors of the dragon hides: two browns, a blue, and a green. That coincided with the three riders Ardyn had poached from Kingsglaive Wing, plus one extra brown that he could have recruited to his personal Wing from any of the others in the interim.

 _We are to maintain position,_ Miyuth informed her a moment before he backwinged and began to hover in place. Their companions all did the same, watching and waiting.

Despite knowing that Ardyn was willing to kill those he felt were in his way, Aranea was still shocked when the lead brown in their formation began flaming. It took some quick wingwork on Ulrith’s part to avoid the blaze.

Ignis tensed behind her and swore. “Those sharding fools! They could have killed Ulrith!”

Aranea thought that had been their goal, but she wasn’t going to argue the point. Leaning down against her dragon’s neck, she watched the newcomers with wary eyes to see what their next move would be.

They regrouped, and this time it was Axis’s green Arrath who wheeled towards their formation with flame blasting from her jaws. Miyuth dove, but howled when the trailing edge of flame licked against his tail.

 _You alright?_ Aranea glared daggers at the retreating pair who had dared to harm her dragon, wishing they were on the ground where she could fight them herself.

 _I think so._ Miyuth sounded more pained than a mild burn would account for. _Why do they attack us? Dragons flame Thread, not each other._

After the foursome took another pass, all of them with flames spouting from dragon maws, Aranea began to wonder if they would even make it to Insomnia. _It’s the Weyrleader. The one we’re coming to stop._

“They’re keeping us in the sky so we can’t interfere with Ardyn!” Ignis bellowed from his seat behind her. “They’re _stalling_! What is happening down there?”

 _Now that_ , Aranea thought, _was a very good question_.

But then the battle resumed, if it could be called a battle when one side was attacking and one fleeing, and she had no more time to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're so close to the end, I'm getting emotional!! I would love to hear your thoughts if you don't mind leaving a comment! Thanks so much for continuing to read and support this fic, it truly means the world to me! <3


	18. Restoration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of Anne McCaffrey's birthday, the next chapter!
> 
> My thanks as always to my beta-san, [aliatori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori), for everything they do!
> 
> My thanks as well to [Forkbeard](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Forkbeard) for being such a supportive bro!
> 
> Any errors remaining are 100% on me!

Dew sparkled on the blades of grass, making Gladio happy he was wearing waterproofed boots. Immediately after that thought he internally castigated himself for being focused on such an inane detail when he needed to be alert, to be ready. He didn’t know what he could actually do if anyone came to try and attack Noctis and Lunafreya; all he knew was that he wasn’t gonna leave them unattended. Gladio was grateful he’d won his argument with Iris, though. His sister had been dropped off at the Harper Hall before the Wing made its way to Insomnia Weyr. She was out of harm’s way, but Gladio was painfully aware that Ignis, Prompto, and all the others were going right into danger.

They might not all come back.

That wouldn’t do. Gladio shook his head, visualizing that he was shaking away the foreboding feeling that had threatened to take hold. They would win the day. Ardyn would be defeated, and everyone would be safe again. There were no other acceptable outcomes, and Gladio knew that he and all his friends would do whatever it took to make sure that they succeeded.

He heard Amicitath bugle agreement from where she circled overhead and smiled, taking heart in his partner’s confidence.

The sun crept higher until the treeline obscured it, and the dew dried beneath his feet as the morning inched towards high noon. Gladio diverted from the path he’d been taking to walk closer to the fire, snagging a mug of lukewarm klah from the breakfast leftovers and a meatroll he had prepared himself before the others left. He ate his simple lunch, secure in the knowledge that Amicitath’s keen, multifaceted eyes would see anyone brazen enough to approach in broad daylight. After he finished, he allowed himself to go close enough to Lunafreya’s weyr to peer inside. He saw the Weyrwoman, Weyrleader, and two Primes sitting quietly, hands clasped and eyes shut. Narrowing amber eyes in an effort to see more clearly, Gladio thought he saw sweat beading on Noct’s face. Luna’s face was glistening, too, and their posture was rigid with the effort they were putting forth, doing the unseen things that would be the key to freeing Insomnia.

Satisfied for now that they were doing alright, Gladio took up his post as sentry once more, pacing the Weyrcamp perimeter, his mind ever open to his dragon’s voice.

_Someone comes!_

_Who? Are they alone? Which direction?_

_A man. I don’t know him_ , Amicitath sounded momentarily contrite, but continued her report swiftly. _This is very troubling, Gladio. He is flying without a dragon! And he flames! Can men eat firestone?_

Gladio blinked, trying to take in and understand the torrent of information. Realization struck him, and his lips thinned in a grimace. This must be another of Gentiana’s cohorts, these alien Primes who had come and wrought such horrific destruction on his home and family.

And then there was no time left to think, because a fire-encased form of a man was hovering in air barely a dragonlength from Gladio. He was definitely a person, if a slightly different type of person than Gladio had ever seen. It was hard to make out his features, wreathed in flames as they were, but if Gladio wasn’t mistaken he had _horns_.

“Get outta here!” he shouted, glaring up at the interloper. “Leave our planet!”

“But I like it here.” Words formed in a sibilant hiss, the sound akin to water sizzling on a hot rock at the cookfire. Gladio thought he saw the strange man smiling - _smirking_ \- those alien eyes scintillating from more than just the flames at his command. “Where is Shiva?”

“Who the fuck is Shiva?”

A roar, and those flames were shooting towards Gladio, causing him to leap back with another curse. “You dare try to prevaricate with me? I can see in your mind that she’s here.”

Gladio’s eyes widened in horror. Oh, shells, if he could read his thoughts, he’d know exactly where they were… he’d know the entire plan! He recalled Gentiana saying she’d been called by another name once, but he’d respected her choice and called her what she’d wanted to be called. Gladio figured it was another way for her to sever her ties with her former allies, and didn’t pry.

But maybe he could use it.

“Oh, Shiva? Yeah, she goes by Gentiana now.” Despite the fear clamoring up his spine and filling his gut with nausea, Gladio forced his lips to stretch in his best imitation of Wingleader Nyx’s cockiest grin. “Guess she wanted nothing else to do with you, so…”

Another roar, another jet of flame. Gladio was getting tired of being flamed at like Thread, but two could play at that game. Amicitath had been hovering overhead, screaming her anger at this man who would dare threaten her rider, but waiting for Gladio’s word.

He gave it.

She dove down with a thunderous roar, and her flames completely engulfed this nameless nemesis. Part of Gladio felt appalled at directing his dragon to intentionally harm another living being, but he knew that he had to protect Noct and Luna at all costs. Once Amicitath had exhausted her flame, she backwinged and landed neatly behind Gladio. Her wedge shaped head snaked out above Gladio’s, and he smelled the sulfur of her breath, finding it comforting.

But the smoke cleared, and the Prime still stood, clearly unharmed. Shard it, he was _laughing_ , appearing quite unhinged, still glowing with his own luminescence.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” he taunted. “Imagine, attacking Ifrit with fire. You’re more foolish than Bahamut thought!” Another cascade of laughter, and then those molten eyes narrowed. “Try this!”

Flames blasted from his upraised hands, straight towards Amicitath. “No!” Gladio howled, diving at his dragon as if he could push her out of the way. He knew it was stupid as soon as he did it; she could simply blink _between_.

But he could not.

 _I’ve got you!_ Amicitath closed her massive jaws around him with more gentleness than Gladio thought she was capable of, and she took them both between. Gladio fervently hoped that the three heartbeats their transfer would take wouldn’t be enough time for this man - this Ifrit - to get to Noctis and Lunafreya.

* * *

Prompto wasn’t ashamed of the way his hands shook where they were wrapped around one of Argentamth’s neck ridges. Never in a million Turns had he thought he’d be facing a flaming dragon in anything other than training games, and in the Games, they charred woolen faux Thread, not fellow riders.

“Hold!” Nyx bellowed. Clearly Prompto wasn’t the only one appalled by present circumstances. Even if they were on opposite sides, they were all still dragonriders. They lived by a code: for a dragonrider to willingly harm another — as Ardyn had done — was anathema, and the fact his followers were clearly willing to do so had Prompto questioning everything he’d believed about the Weyr. Unless the rogue Prime who had been controlling the weyrwomen also was controlling Ardyn’s wingriders? But to Prompto’s mind, that was even more reason not to hurt them, if they didn’t even know what they were doing.

“Hold!” Nyx screamed again. “Let’s land and talk about this. We can settle it in a way that doesn’t have any dragons dying today!” Prompto thought he heard low laughter carried on the breeze. Violet eyes widened in horror when a bronze descended behind Nyx, his open mouth sparking with the beginnings of a flame. “Nyx!”

Ulrith went between, saving the pair from the newcomer’s fire, and Prompto stopped thinking about right and wrong. These were his friends, his family, and they weren’t dying today. _Got enough firestone?_

_Yes._

_Let’s go!_ Prompto opened his mind to Argentamth more than ever before, and they moved in perfect sync, Argentamth receiving Prompto’s directions without any conscious effort on Prompto’s part. They wheeled out of formation, honing in on a blue. Prompto vaguely recognized the man, a former member of Kingsglaive Wing. Luche, that was his name. When they got closer, Argentamth shot off a warning blaze, before closing his jaw after it faded.

“We don’t have to do this!” He pitched his voice loud, hoping he was audible over the winds and the sound of flaming dragons from behind him. “We’re both blues. Blue riders are known for their calm, clear thinking. Let’s use that! We can end this!”

“We _can_ end this,” Luche agreed, his lips curving sharply into a grin. His riding helmet shaded his eyes; Prompto couldn’t see if the smile reached them. No time to think about it. Lazarth was trumpeting in challenge and his jaw opened wide, flame blasting out hotly. Were it not for Argentamth’s quick wingwork, they’d have been charred for sure.

 _That was close._ Prompto adjusted his goggles, grateful for the protection from the smoke riding the air currents all around. This was insane. What had he been thinking breaking formation and approaching one of these lunatics alone? He directed his dragon to get back in formation, but when they wheeled around, he saw there was no formation to return to. The Wing was in chaos, each dragon facing off against one of Ardyn’s, and Prompto let out a strangled cry at the terrible tableau. He was so focused on the heinous scene before him that he didn’t notice bronze rider Kain pulling the same move on Prompto that he’d tried to pull on Nyx.

When the dragonfire engulfed him he howled, not able to put a thought together beyond _between_ , a rider’s instincts kicking in. But this wasn’t Thread that would die in the cold of _between_ , and Prompto was in too much pain to form intelligible coordinates.

Argentamth took them _between_.

* * *

Far from Insomnia in a small cave in the northern mountains, Noctis gasped, tears springing to his eyes as the feeling of Argentamth’s death — the realization that Prompto was probably dead too — brought him back from his subconscious mind and the work they were trying to do. He was abruptly, jarringly in the here and now, and he could hear Amicitath roaring outside. Daring a glance over his shoulder, he saw a wall of fire and swore, shifting his legs so he could stand.

“Don’t.” Ramuh’s voice was steady, emotionless. “We have to finish this, Noctis. We can’t succumb to distraction.”

“My friend’s death isn’t a ‘distraction’!” Noctis yelled angrily. “And Gladio’s in trouble!”

“Noctis,” Lunafreya’s tremulous voice held as much sorrow as Noct felt. “I am just as upset as you are. To have brought Prompto and Argentamth back from the horror of the Scourge only to lose them… and in such a terrible way,” her words broke off into a sob, and Noctis saw Gentiana squeeze her hand.

“It’s awful,” Lunafreya said when she was able to speak again. “But Ramuh’s right. No one else can do this but us. We must trust that Gladio has things well in hand, or that he’ll have Amicitath call for help. And we will mourn Prompto as he deserves.” Her tears stopped, and her eyes shone with determination, but Noctis saw the way she trembled with feeling. “If we don’t do this, there’ll be no one left to mourn.”

Noctis couldn’t speak, so he nodded, and hoped that his eyes were conveying all those things he was having trouble putting into words. He realized that wasn’t an issue, not now, not with the four of them linked mind to mind, for even when Noctis had tried to physically break the circle, he hadn’t withdrawn his mind.

Letting himself sink bank into that mental _between_ , he felt how strongly each of them was affected by this latest tragedy in a line of rapid-fire tragedies, and he felt a renewed surge of determination. Lunafreya was right. There would be time to mourn after they saved Insomnia. That was a lesson he’d learned at his father’s knee: part of being a leader meant pushing aside your own needs to serve those of your people. _I’m sorry. Please, continue._

Gentiana was serving as focus, guiding their joined minds across the world, leaving their bodies behind in that tiny Benden cave as they sought out Insomnia Weyr, and Weyrleader Ardyn. He was likely to be attended by Bahamut. Noctis knew now that the wall of fire behind him was due to Ifrit’s attack, because Gentiana and Ramuh had known, and they were bound together so closely in this moment that anything one knew, all four knew.

It felt like flying even though he was sitting still. His mind filled in the image of a starry night sky, and as he felt Gentiana slow them down, Noctis realized he saw a man sitting beside a box. Well… ‘man’ might be a misnomer, he realized, as he tried to make sense of the apparition staring up at them. The best Noctis’s mind could put together from the dizzying sight was a man wearing some sort of armor, but it was metallic, not wherhide. He had protrusions that looked like wings made of swords, and Noctis lingered back warily. Was this how Ardyn looked in this odd psychic _between_?

Shifting his focus to the crate at the strange man’s side, Noctis felt his jaw drop open in surprise. That was his first inkling that he had a form in this odd place, and he looked down at himself, seeing his familiar body with relief. That box, though…

It was a cage. And inside it, curled up and pathetically whimpering, was Weyrleader Ardyn.

Noctis never expected to feel sorry for Ardyn. He had done so much harm to the Weyr, was responsible for the deaths of so many people, including Noctis’s parents. But seeing him here, trapped and helpless, was sobering. Noct wasn’t letting him off the hook - he had made his choices, and he would live with the consequences.

But it was obvious that Bahamut was the mastermind behind all this horror, and Noctis decided then and there that he would not live to see the moons rise.

He lifted azure eyes scintillating with magenta flame, stepping past the avatars of Lunafreya, Ramuh, and even Gentiana. Noctis didn’t stop until he stood a breath away from an arrogantly nonplussed Bahamut. “This ends. Now!” he snarled, lifting a hand that glowed with the same fuschia miasma as his eyes.

Bahamut rose slowly, the portrait of calm unconcern. “Yes, it does, child. But not as you envision.” The way he wrote off Noctis was apparent by the way his eyes slipped over the young bronze rider with nary a care, focusing on Gentiana and Ramuh. “So. You’ve _both_ betrayed me. Then you shall share their fate.”

Noctis glanced back at the others and was shocked at what he saw. Gentiana had shed the guise of serene brunette. She appeared made of crystal or ice, her skin a gleaming, glacial blue, her eyes as cold as the High Reaches tundra.

Ramuh still appeared to be the same old man he’d always been, but his hands were raised and crackling with lighting as he glared at Bahamut.

It was almost a relief to see that Lunafreya still looked _normal_ , though her sylleblossom eyes shone with resolve.

The three stepped forward to flank Noctis, and only once they were all in a line, did Gentiana deign to answer Bahamut.

“You have betrayed everything we stand for. We are here to correct your mistakes and save this world.” Her otherworldly calm faded, and she sounded very human when she pleaded, “Bahamut, _please_ , stop this. These are innocent people. This wasn’t our goal with exploration.”

He laughed softly, humorlessly. “I had no idea the bounty we’d find out here so far from civilization, or I’d have planned ahead.” He clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “It’s a shame you won’t join me. I expected more from our group, but only Ifrit has seen the merit in my work.”

Noctis saw how Gentiana flinched at the sound of Ifrit’s name. Snowflakes swirled around her, and the emotion was gone from her silken voice, replaced with the weight of finality. “No. More.”

If anyone had been watching where the four sat in the physical world, the black crystals clustered between them began to sing when Noctis’s hand broke away from Ramuh’s to touch one. His other hand slipped from Lunafreya’s and closed around the king crystal of the set, causing a glissando of sound to fill the cave.

He didn’t know what Gentiana planned, and decided he didn’t care. He was gonna end this _now._ But he’d need a weapon. Noctis’s thoughts raced. What if he imagined one? But what would be best? He ran through a mental inventory of all the arms he’d seen in his life, swords and axes and lances and more that he didn’t even know the names for. To his amazement, they appeared all around him, in a glowing blue several shades darker than Gentiana’s psionic form.

That seemed to get Bahamut’s attention, as he turned away from posturing at Gentiana to regard Noctis with the same interest a smithcrafter would regard a new type of ore. “That’s a nice try, boy. But you are untrained.” His laughter was louder this time, harsh and grating. “I am a Prime! And you? A primitive.”

“Yeah,” Noctis said agreeably. “And you killed my parents, you misbegotten spawn of a watch-wher.” He lifted both hands, pleased when the spinning weapons followed his direction. “Get off my planet!” He pumped his hands in the signal a Wingleader would give his riders to flame thread, and the weapons spiraled up into the air, coming down directly where Bahamut stood. Several pierced Ardyn’s cage, but Bahamut was simply there one moment and the next - gone.

It was like Gentiana had said; these Primes could go _between_ without a dragon.

Noctis looked around, trying to find where in this endless starscape the alien had retreated to. A gentle hand on his shoulder got his attention.

“He’s there,” Lunafreya said, pointing. “Be careful, Noct.”

Could he kiss her here? No harm in trying. Noctis pressed his lips to hers, and while it lacked the spark a real kiss would elicit between them, he could feel through their mindlink that she appreciated the gesture.

Gentiana had said he and Lunafreya were ‘natural Primes’.

Noctis went _between_. He emerged behind Bahamut, and sent his battalion of crystalline weapons at him again. On and on it went: Bahamut would disappear, Noctis would search for him, and attack. He thought he might be chipping away at him, little telltale starbursts of blue appearing like shattered crystal shards, trailing in the wake of Bahamut’s retreat.

His wasn’t the only battle. Despite Bahamut having said only Ifrit joined him, another had set upon Lunafreya, Gentiana, and Ramuh. Maybe it _was_ Ifrit, but unless he had drastically changed his appearance from what Noctis had gleaned from the mental link with his allies, this was likely another.

The name ‘Leviathan’ floated across his mind, and Noctis thought it an apt one. This newcomer was in the guise of a massive serpent, appearing like a cross between a tunnel snake and a dragon. It was larger than anything Noctis had ever seen from it’s length alone, and he felt the urge to go help the others.

Which was, of course, what Bahamut was waiting for. Noctis screamed in pain when something stabbed his side, and reaching down, his hand was covered in the same crystal blue shards that had been falling from Bahamut.

 _Focus_ , he ordered himself sternly. He felt Lucith’s bolstering touch, and felt it backed up by what had to be hundreds of other draconic minds. Noctis felt himself flood with energy, his physical self still in gestalt with the black crystals, his psyche fueled by the power of dragonkind.

With the dragons of Pern on his side, how could he fail?

* * *

Where had this new… person? creature?... come from? Lunafreya didn’t have time to figure it out, because it was striking with massive jaws held wide enough to engulf a person in one bite. Instinct took over for conscious thought, and if Lunafreya had more time, she’d have marveled at taking herself _between_ without Fleurenth’s aide, but the attacker was winding a serpentine path around them, zeroing in on Gentiana.

Lunafreya teleported again, interposing herself between Leviathan and her mentor. Lighting sizzled all around as Ramuh leapt into the fray, the electricity lifting Lunafreya’s hair in a golden nimbus around her head.

But then she caught an image of herself from one of her companion’s minds, and a fierce grin stretched her lips, baring her teeth.

Lunafreya’s eyes glowed with the same opalescent light that formed a halo around her entire body and she lifted one arm gracefully, a beam of pearly light lancing from her palm to connect with the massive serpent’s jaw. It howled and spasmed backward, falling away from the group. Lunafreya took that opportunity to run to her allies. “What do we do?”

Ramuh’s countenance was grave. “We fight.”

“She’s coming back,” Gentiana said urgently. “Prepare yourselves.”

When Leviathan darted towards them with a dire scream, Lunafreya drew on the mindlink. It was as one that the three launched their attack this time: Lunafreya’s beam of energy mixed with Ramuh’s lighting and Gentiana’s blizzard.

Leviathan’s scream cut off, and Lunafreya was amazed it could be that easy. But then she heard Noctis cry out and she looked above them to where he was engaged with Bahamut, and she screamed when he fell to his knees.

“Help him, child,” Gentiana said, “we’ve got this.”

Feeling a pang of guilt when Leviathan’s coils shifted and the massive monster moved through the ether, preparing her next attack, Lunafreya heeded Gentiana’s words and teleported to Noct’s side.

Without knowing why she did what she did, she lay a hand to his wounded side. This wasn’t the Scourge that she’d cleansed from Prompto, she thought with a pang of loss for the sunny man, but maybe…

More of the white-gold light radiated from her hand, and then Noctis was pushing to his feet. When he met Lunafreya’s eyes, she gasped. Where hers glowed like the moon, his were magenta fire.

“I need you,” he said, and she nodded, not requiring an explanation; the mental link did that for him.

“I’m here,” she murmured, and as he turned to face a gloating Bahamut, she lay a hand between his shoulder blades, wedding her power to the massive wellspring he already drew upon from himself, the allied Primes, and the dragons.

His attack was so bright she had to close her eyes, and when she opened them… Bahamut was gone.

A heartbeat later, and she was back in her own body, blinking in bewilderment as she tried to ground herself. She discovered she was no longer holding hands with Noctis and Gentiana but rather they had all bowed forward to clasp obsidian ash that had once been black crystal.

“Did we…?” she looked to Gentiana. “Did we _win_?”

“Yes.” Gentiana’s smile was blinding despite her eyes being closed. “Your planet is safe again.”

“Gladio!” Noctis said, jumping to his feet. He nearly fell, staggering against a stone outcropping. While the battle had felt like it had gone fast, in reality they had been locked in psionic conflict for hours.

Lunafreya learned from his example and stood carefully, one hand on the rock of the cave wall for support. She looked out the mouth of the cave, and saw nothing: no fire, no Gladio, no dragons.

 _They are alright_ , Fleurenth’s voice sounded as weary as Lunafreya felt. _We helped them defeat Ifrit._ The dragon’s voice was smug when she added, _That one’s fire was nothing to that of Lucith and Amicitath._

 _Well done, my heart_ , Lunafreya said as she slowly followed Noctis out of the cave, lifting one hand to shield her eyes from the brilliant sunlight. They had begun this in the morning; it was now high afternoon, the sun well past its apex. Night would fall in just a few hours. _What of the others?_ She knew already that Prompto and Argentamth were no more, but wasn’t sure if she’d have been able to feel the others’ deaths while embroiled in that taxing mental battle.

 _The rest all live_ , Fleurenth said. _They await us in Insomnia._

Lunafreya couldn’t help it. At those words, she began to sob. She was aware of Noctis wrapping strong arms around her, and Gladio wrapping his even larger arms around them both, as she continued to cry. She wept for Prompto, and Argentamth. She wept for Ardyn, undone by his own greed.

But mostly… she wept in stunned disbelief and happiness that today she got to go _home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think!
> 
> Two chapters left, guys!


	19. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My continued thanks to beta-san [aliatori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori) for helping make this make sense! <3

Returning to Insomnia Weyr should have felt more triumphant after the victory they’d won, but all Crowe felt was tired. She was so exhausted her bones ached. Beneath her, Altiuth rumbled his agreement and sent her an image of the two of them sunning themselves at the lake.

“Not today, friend,” she said grimly. “We have work to do… and friends to mourn.”

Altiuth raised a soft keen as they circled the Weyrbowl, joined first by their wingmates, and then by the other dragons of the Weyr. A blanket of solemnity covered the Weyr like the heavy northern snows, lending a quiet not normally found in this busy place.

Crowe dismounted and made short work of removing the harness from her bonded partner. She took her time checking his hide for any scorings or sores, despite his mental protest that there weren’t any. No dragonrider would rush through the care of their dragon unless it was an emergency. But the battle was over now.

They won.

As she finished her task and indulged in a lingering series of scratches to Altiuth’s favorite spots, her thoughts turned to her fellow wing riders, now gone _between_. Regis and Aulea, their leaders for so many joyful years. Clarus, Regis’s second, always there to listen. Vivacious Garnet, who may have been one of the great Weyrwomen, but never got a chance. Cheerful Kamura, her jokes never to be heard again. Steady Pelna, no more to offer his sound advice. Calm Sonitus, able to bring Crowe out of her temper with a well timed eyebrow raise. And Libertus, the brother Crowe hadn’t been born with but had earned through years of shared experiences. She also grieved for young Prompto, his sunny light snuffed out before it could truly shine, and she decided she’d take on the task of planning the wake.

She needed something to do, some way to stay busy.

Crowe sent Altiuth off with a pat to his massive snout. She watched as he sprung aloft and flew up to perch on the rim near Ulrith and Amicitath, and had to smile. While her new Wing could never replace the old, Crowe was grateful for the friendships that had sprung up in the face of adversity, and hoped for many long years to build the kind of camaraderie she’d shared with the Kingsglaive.

Squaring her shoulders, Crowe walked briskly across the bowl and entered the Lower Caverns. It became apparent why the courtyard was so empty; inside, it was crammed from wall to wall, the massive room crowded with people who knew _something_ had happened - the mourning dirge of the dragons would have made that obvious - but not _what_. Crowe was grateful that it wouldn’t be her job to explain. There were still things about the day’s fight that bewildered her, and after some time had passed and things had settled into a new normal, she planned to corner Lunafreya and get some answers.

She headed into the kitchens and honed in on Takka, crossing the bustling room to stand near the headman so that he would be able to hear her above the noise of many people hard at work. “Breach three casks of Benden red,” she pitched her voice for his ears alone.

“That bad, huh?” His eyes were compassionate when he looked at her. “I heard there’s to be a meeting of the entire Weyr in the Great Hall tonight.”

“Bring the wine along,” Crowe suggested, voice tight.

Takka nodded, and when she lingered, asked, “Will there be anything else, dragonrider?”

She shook herself, realizing she was half asleep on her feet despite the clanging of pots and pans. “No, I’m sorry. Thank you.”

Crowe made her way along the outer perimeter of the Lower Caverns and navigated the labyrinthine hallways until she made it to her quarters. Altiuth was already there, asleep in his hollow. Deciding everyone could spare her for an hour, Crowe curled up in the cradle of her dragon’s forelegs and closed her eyes.

* * *

Wiping sweat from her brow, Lunafreya wondered if she could spare the time to run down to the storeroom and get something for her aching head. She suspected, however, that due to the nature of the headache, naught would help save rest - and there was simply too much to do for her to stop now. Looking around the sickroom, Lunafreya’s heart sank seeing how many people still awaited healing from the Scourge, despite the labor of the past few hours. And they hadn’t even started on dragons yet. If only there were more than just herself, Gentiana, and Ramuh. Noctis, despite his powerful mental gifts, had been frustrated to learn he didn’t have the Talent necessary for healing. Gentiana had said there might be others in the Weyr who could learn, but with time being of the essence, she didn’t want to stop and Search for them.

Master Tellah had organized the afflicted in different rooms based on how far their illness had progressed. The Master Healer was as upset as Noctis upon learning he couldn’t dispense this miraculous cure, but he made himself useful doing what he could: helping weyrfolk to drink water, encouraging newly healed patients to sip broth, and giving out pots of the same oil used on dragonhide to prevent cracks since it seemed to soothe the skin blackened by this Scourge.

Taking a moment to assess where next she was needed, Lunafreya watched as Gentiana and Ramuh made their way down from one patient to the next. For all that Bahamut had focused The Six Primes on Pern with malevolent intent, she was grateful to have their help now. Granted, that same aide wouldn’t be needed if Bahamut hadn’t helped Ardyn manufacture this tragedy, but Lunafreya was just thankful that not all of The Six were wicked.

Moving to the next cot in her row, Lunafreya smiled gently at the grizzled man resting there. Somehow he kept his topknot immaculate despite laying abed. The hairstyle allowed Lunafreya to see inky veins of black streaking across his scalp and down his neck, disappearing beneath his tunic.

“This shouldn’t hurt, Yang,” she assured him, laying hands on the crown of his head. “Just keep breathing normally, and you should feel better in moments.” Lunafreya closed her eyes, and focused inward. Truth be told, after all the practice she’d had today, she barely needed a moment to find that part of her inner self that allowed her to purge all traces of this vile taint from a person’s body. She felt sweat roll down her forehead from the effort, but when she opened her eyes again, she saw the dark splotches receding, fading away like evaporating water, until nothing was left but clear skin. Lunafreya pushed one last, large burst of energy, ensuring every last trace of the scourge was eliminated.

She helped the blue rider to sit up, and watched his face twist in astonishment. “The pain is gone… completely!” His eyes unfocused, indicating a communication with his dragon. He gasped, and Lunafreya looked at him in question.

“Whatever you just did to me, it healed Sheilath, too!” Yang grinned as his words were echoed by a jubilant draconic warble from outdoors. “My thanks!”

Lunafreya was surprised but pleased by that news. She’d go inspect his dragon just to be sure. “Try and get some rest,” she advised him before standing and making her way between beds until she reached Gentiana’s side. She filled her mentor in on what had happened and was rewarded by a large smile eclipsing the older woman’s typical serene expression.

“Your raw Talent is wondrous,” Gentiana said. “Would that I could take you back to my Tower and train you properly.”

Part of Lunafreya longed to go, to learn, but… “I have responsibilities here.”

“I know, child,” Gentiana patted her shoulder. “See to Sheilath, make sure he is truly cured. And then take a nap.” Lunafreya began to protest, but Gentiana held up a hand, cutting her off. “You cannot heal anyone if you have no energy. Check on the dragon, and rest. Ramuh and I will continue to work.”

“All right,” Lunafreya assented begrudgingly. She knew that Gentiana was right even as she chafed at not being able to keep up with the two offworld Primes. That was foolishness; they had trained for years to get to their level of skill. With a sigh, Lunafreya made her way outdoors, bespeaking Fleurenth as she walked. _Please ask Sheilath to attend me in the weyrbowl._

 _He comes._ A beat of silence. _And then you will come and sleep._

_Yes, yes, I promise._

After a burst of satisfaction shot over their mindlink, Fleurenth quieted, and Lunafreya turned her attention to the blue dragon landing in front of her. She checked him thoroughly and found not a single patch of black. “Go eat something,” she encouraged him. “Your rider will be up and about again by this evening.”

If asked later, Lunafreya couldn’t have told anyone how she made it from the bowl to her weyr. She just knew that somehow after checking Sheilath, her feet had found their way up the path, and then she was falling into her bed, not bothering to take off her boots or jacket.

Hours later, she was roused by Fleurenth’s touch on her mind. _I would prefer that you sleep more_ , her queen sounded tetchy, as if irritated that her rider wasn’t to be permitted what she deemed sufficient rest, _But Lucith says the meeting will start in a quarter hour._

“Shells,” Lunafreya swore, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “I won’t have time to bathe. A quick wash and change will have to suffice.” She got out of bed quickly and splashed water on her face, which served not only to cleanse but help awaken. Looking down at her dirty wherhide riding gear, she grimaced. No, for this meeting, she needed to at least put on clean clothes if nothing else, and she thought dressing appropriate to her new rank would be a good idea. Not that she meant to put on airs or act the Lady, but as her friends had reminded her in their Weyrcamp, the Weyr looked to the Weyrwoman for inspiration. While she still intended to get her hands dirty and do her fair share of day labor, she also recognized she was a symbol. Ironic, after escaping the fate she was born to, which could have rendered her nothing more than a pretty ornament, a _symbol_ of a Lord Holder’s prosperity and virility, she found herself again in that role. But Lunafreya had grown up enough during her years in the Weyr to realize that sometimes you needed a symbol, and that many roles and professions she had once disparaged were vitally necessary to her people’s well being.

And so she put on a dark cerulean gown of heavy brocade and slid her feet into satin slippers. She affixed her cords of rank to her shoulder and combed out her cornsilk hair before twisting it into a coronet around her head.

A look in the mirror, and she nodded. She was ready.

* * *

Noctis entered the Great Hall while the rest of the weyrfolk were still at dinner. Slow, somber steps carried him to the dais that was the focal point of the room. For years, he’d watched his father and mother stand there, addressing the Weyr with a stern grace Noctis hoped he’d some day grow in to. But for today, he’d settle for starting to erase the memory of Ardyn gloating on the platform, surveying his people as if they were insignificant.

For if there was one thing Noctis had learned from his parents it was that each and every member of Insomnia was significant, from the ranking Weyrwoman down to the newest kitchen drudge. Everyone had a role to play, and tonight, Noctis would play his.

When Lunafreya walked in, resplendent in her finery, Noctis smiled. He still had plenty of fears about his new responsibilities, but with Lunafreya as his Weyrwoman, he knew the burden would be shared. When she stood at his side, straight backed and proud, he twined his fingers with hers and gave her hand a squeeze that was returned almost instantaneously. They still had a lot to learn about each other, but Noctis thought they were off to a good start.

He could love her someday - and he didn’t think that day was terribly distant.

They remained standing as the dragonriders and weyrfolk slowly filled the Great Hall. Noctis struggled not to fidget, still unused to being the subject of so many trusting gazes. Part of him felt like he was playacting and his father would walk in to take over any moment.

When his wingmates - his _friends_ \- walked in, eyes heavy with the events of the past weeks, Noctis’s lips tightened.

Regis wasn’t going to darken the door. Noctis was Weyrleader, and these were his people.

He waited a few moments for the buzz of chatter to fade away before he released Lunafreya’s hand, lifting both his arms in a gesture for silence.

“I know you have questions,” he began haltingly. “And we’ll answer what we can. Several riders were lost today.” He saw nods of acknowledgement. Everyone had heard the dragons’ mourning keen, even if they did not know which deaths were being knelled. “One lost to us was Weyrleader Ardyn. I have assumed the Weyrleadership; Lucith flew Fleurenth when she rose, and as she was the first queen to rise after Daggeth’s untimely death, Lunafreya is now our Weyrwoman.”

Lunafreya inclined her head to first Noctis, then the room at large. “We have faced much tragedy these past months,” she spoke in a clear voice that filled the room easily. “And now we must work together to mourn, and to move on.”

“A list of the dead will be posted tomorrow,” Noctis said. “And in two days time we will have a memorial for all of those lost.” He cast a sidelong glance at Lunafreya.

“Not all the news is dire.” Lunafreya’s voice carried hope, sweet and welcome. “We have new allies.” At this pre-arranged cue, Gentiana and Ramuh strode forward to stand at the foot of the dais. “And they have much to teach us.”

“But tonight, we will raise a glass for our fallen comrades,” Noctis’s voice was grave. “And tomorrow, we can turn to those new things.” He watched Takka and his kitchen staff circulate, passing out glasses of Benden red until everyone was holding a goblet aloft. The Weyrleaders were the last served, and Noctis nodded to Lunafreya, his throat too tight to give the toast.

“To those who have gone _between_ ,” she said evenly, tears glistening in sylleblossom eyes.

“May they fly safely,” Noctis responded with the crowd, unashamed of the wetness on his cheeks as he tipped back his glass and drank deeply.

Their official duties completed for the time being, Noctis and Lunafreya climbed down from the platform and separated, each circulating through the room to mingle with their people. Noctis found his shoulder clapped so much it began to ache, and he was grateful for the wine that wet his lips in between smiles. Eventually he made his way to his friends, and he allowed himself the luxury of lingering at their sides for a while.

“You spoke well,” Ignis offered the praise solemnly. “If you wish, I will send to Masterharper Edward. We shall need a harper to conduct the memorial.”

Noctis grinned when he saw Gladio shake his head - at least one of his friends already knew what was coming. “We already have a harper, Ignis.” His grin deepened at the way Ignis blinked those verdant eyes of his. “That is, if you’ll take the posting?”

“I…” Another owlish blink, and then a flourishing bow as if he’d just completed a performance. When he spoke again, his baritone was resonant and grave. “I would be honored, Weyrleader.”

“Good.” Noctis’s smile was genuine now, the teasing light gone from his eyes. He hadn’t been sure Ignis would want to stay in the Weyr, and was glad that he accepted the job. Noctis would have understood if he’d chosen to leave, but he would have missed him.

He clapped Gladio on the shoulder and found himself pulled into a hug. No words were needed; they’d been friends long enough to say everything that needed saying with a long look.

Noctis continued to move through the Great Hall until he met Lunafreya in the middle. He slung an arm around her waist, his heart lifting when she leaned against his side. Looking over the assembled people, seeing them begin to drink and tell stories, he felt a swell of pride. Someone had found a guitar and began to pick out the melody of the Duty Song, the riders around her lifting their voices in the familiar refrain.

Insomnia would be whole again, be strong again. Noctis knew that as completely as he knew his dragon.

* * *

Casting her eyes aloft, Aranea judged from the height of the moon that it was an hour or so past midnight. She was glad she put on her wherhide jacket against the chill as she slipped out of the Weyr, making her way to the meadow by the lake. Halfway there she was able to spot the amber light of a roaring bonfire which served as her beacon for the rest of her journey.

The others were all gathered save for herself and the Weyrleaders, but Aranea realized they may not be able to get away. In the days since Noctis and Lunafreya had reclaimed Insomnia Weyr from Bahamut’s influence, the riders and weyrfolk alike had been gathering every evening. Today especially, with the formal memorial having occurred at daybreak, found most people spending any hours they could in the communal space. Even this late, the Great Hall was still packed.

Too packed. The weeks in relative isolation had Aranea feeling uncomfortable in the crowded room, and she was grateful to Crowe for arranging this private get together for their Wing.

Seating herself on an empty log, Aranea glanced around the fire at her friends. She could see them feeling like family some day, though she’d prefer not to grow that bond through more harrowing experiences like the ones that had drawn them together. A bitter pang struck her heart when she saw the way Crowe’s fingers intertwined with Nyx’s, the way Gladio and Ignis sat so close together their sides touched.

She missed Prompto. Damn it.

Aranea hated to cry - hell, hated showing any weakness - around other people, and her wingmates were no exception. She stared into the coals of the fire, blinking rapidly in an effort to hold back her tears. She’d cry later, in the privacy of her weyr with only Miyuth as witness.

She must have done a piss poor job of acting, though, because Crowe came to sit beside her, wrapping her in a warm hug.

“We all miss him,” she said simply. “That’s why we’re here.”

“Do you think they’re coming?” Nyx asked, not needed to clarify who he meant.

Aranea looked up in time to see Ignis’s eyes blur as he presumably reached out to their dragons. “Fleurenth says they are on their way,” he reported mere moments before the figures of the Weyrwoman and Weyrleader were visible at the edge of the clearing.

After Noctis and Lunafreya joined the circle around the fire, seating themselves quietly, silence filled the night save for the crackling of the fire. Aranea was loathe to break it, but _someone_ had to.

“Prompto was so curious. He loved those brief visits to the Smithcrafthall. I think if he hadn’t been a rider… he’d have been a Master Smith.” Her voice was tight when she started to speak, but by the end of her sentence fondness colored her tone. “I swear by Faranth’s First Egg, he would have taken apart that flamethrower if Lunafreya hadn’t stopped him.”

“He was quick to learn,” Ignis interjected. “After one listen, he could repeat a Teaching Ballad perfectly.”

“And he was fun,” Noctis said with a laugh. “During his first month at the Weyr I think we got into more trouble together than Gladio and I had our entire childhood.”

“I’m… not sure I’d go that far,” Gladio chuckled. “But he did enjoy getting into mischief. And with him as your partner in crime, I scrubbed way less pots than before.”

Everyone laughed then, knowing it was true; despite the men being 20 Turns old, they had gotten into plenty of trouble before Impressing. That seemed to break the dam, everyone telling their favorite Prompto stories one on top of the other, and Aranea was content to just lean against Crowe and listen, no longer ashamed by the tears trickling from olive eyes.

“When I think of Prompto,” Lunafreya’s voice rose as clear as a bell, causing the others to fall silent, “I think of his heart. He was one of the most genuinely kind people I had ever met, despite his unhappy childhood as a ward of the Hold. His light touched everyone he encountered.” She locked eyes with Aranea, and Aranea mentally prepared herself for the next wave of emotion. “He will be missed.”

Okay, she _thought_ she was prepared, but Lunafreya’s last, soft words opened the proverbial floodgates. Aranea fell against Crowe and cried quietly, hiding her face in the other woman’s messy brown hair. She was grateful to hear her wingmates resume storytelling and gradually pulled herself together.

 _It is good that you mourn with them,_ Miyuth’s voice surprised her; Aranea thought the brown dragon was asleep. _You aren’t alone._

 _How could I be, as your rider?_ she sent a wave of affection along their bond and felt, more than heard, his agreement before he eased back into slumber.

Aranea lifted her head, and gave Crowe a small smile, hoping it communicated her gratitude. She turned back to the fire, and was momentarily overwhelmed by the looks of understanding shining from all her friends’ faces.

Stretching her lips in an approximation of Nyx’s cocky grin, she heard her Wingleader laugh in recognition before she began to speak. “I taught Prompto to hunt while we were at Weyrcamp. As best as I could teach someone who didn’t understand that talking was just gonna scare away all the wherries. Our fourth trip out into the forest, he managed to stumble into the den of a wild garula.”

“I wonder who was more startled: Prompto, or the garula,” Noctis interrupted with a snicker.

“Neither, _Weyrleader_ ,” Aranea drawled with an irreverent salute. “That would have been me. Anyway, like I was saying, he stumbled into the den, chattering away…”

Aranea and her wingmates continued telling stories until the break of dawn. She was surprised to find that this act of remembrance helped her grief feel a little lighter. Prompto would continue to live on in their memories, and Aranea thought he’d rather like the way they had come together tonight.

She resolved that no matter how busy they all became restoring Insomnia that they’d make this a regular happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONE CHAPTER LEFT. I'M EMOTIONAL.
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think! Thanks so much for reading! <3


	20. Prosperity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter!! AHHHHHHHHH
> 
> Thanks to my beta-san [aliatori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori) for helping me make this more readable! FOR ALL 20 CHAPTERS. AND LETTING ME SCREAM AND WHINE AND BRAINSTORM AND ETC. They are a treasure. <3 All remaining errors are on me.

_Five Turns later…_

 

A heavy weight landed on Nyx’s midsection, pulling him unceremoniously from sleep. He sat up, looking for Ulrith - had he overslept? Was his Wing due to patrol? Oh, shells, if he was late again, Titus wasn’t gonna let him hear the end of it; that conniver had been after Nyx’s job for Turns, and Nyx couldn’t blame the Weyrleader for passing it over if he was consistently tardy. After scrubbing a hand over cerulean eyes that felt full of soapsand, Nyx opened them and remembered where he was, _when_ he was, and how lucky he was.

The weight on his midsection was a chaotic ball of energy disguised as a sprightly girl named Selena. Now that she’d seen Nyx crack his eyes open, she grinned, pressing her nose to his. “It’s morning!”

He laughed, the sound low and joyful. “Why, so it is. Are you ready for breakfast?”

“She’s eaten.” Crowe’s voice was drolly unamused. “You slept in, hero.”

Nyx winced. “Sorry.” Scooping Selena into his arms, he rolled out of bed, and crossed the room to brush a kiss across Crowe’s pursed lips. “I’ll take bedtime tonight?”

“Yes, you will.” Mollified, Crowe smiled and kissed him back. “There might still be some fresh rolls if you hurry.” She reached and took the child from her spouse’s arms so he could get changed.

Nyx ducked behind the changing screen and pulled off his nightshirt. “How’s the weather?” He listened for Crowe - ah, how’d he get so lucky to have wife and Wingsecond be the same wonderful woman? - to respond while pulling on his clothing.

“Clear with mild winds. Altiuth wants to go to the lake later.”

Nyx popped back around the screen and grinned, moving to take their foster daughter in his arms again and swing her around. “Would you like to swim with Ulrith and Altiuth, sweetheart?”

“Yay!” Selena pumped her fists enthusiastically, mimicking the Wingleader’s most commonly used signal to their riders.

“Then let me find some food, yeah?” Nyx kissed Crowe again and settled Selena on his hip, leaving their weyr to make his way down to the Lower Caverns. Once he arrived, he waved at his friends, and as always felt the shadow of those who had gone _between_. Nyx didn’t want to dwell on his losses. He’d mourned, and would continue to honor their memories. But he knew his lost friends would want him to _live_.

Because life was good, and he was determined not to take a single moment of it for granted.

* * *

"You’re the laziest lot of dimglows I’ve seen pass through the Weyr!” Aranea said scornfully, walking down the line of one-year weyrlings. Really, they should know better by now, it wasn’t like they’d Impressed yesterday. But ever since Cor had stepped back and allowed his second to take on more of the day to day Weyrlingmaster duties, Aranea had noticed a tendency in some of the older pupils to test her authority.

Well, if she could handle a band of mercenary soldiers, she could keep some kids in line.

“Twenty laps!” she snapped her fingers. “Around the outside edge of the Bowl. Don’t cut corners, Miyuth will see. Go!”

They ran off, and she nodded in satisfaction. The weyrlings’ young dragons were sunning themselves on ledges nearby, and she cast her eyes over them appraisingly. This had been a good class, and she felt confident they’d handle the rest of their training well. Her eyes alighted on a young blue dragon, and even as she critically assessed him, finding him to be well grown and likely near his full size, her throat tightened with memories of another young blue dragon… and his cheerful rider.

Shards, she missed Prompto so much sometimes that it was hard to breathe. Their relationship may have been short, but it was no less intense for its brevity. Prompto had brought fun, laughter, and passion to Aranea in a time when everything was going to whershit, and she’d loved him for it.

Crossing her fist over her chest in salute, Aranea looked to the brilliant azure sky, a lighter shade than Argentamth but still lovely. Miyuth, ever attuned to his rider’s mind, spoke gently. _They have gone_ between. _But they are together, as we are._

Aranea took a deep breath, smiled, and murmured, “May they fly safely.”

She watched the weyrlings run, content in the feeling of her dragon’s mind showering affection over their telepathic bond. What would she do without Miyuth? Hopefully she’d never have to answer that question. Aranea sent love over the telepathic mindlink, and could imagine her dragon’s gemstone eyes glittering with the greens and blues of happiness.

She heard the engine blast of a spacecraft heading towards the landing strip and looked up, shading her eyes. Since the Conclave of Weyrwomen, Weyrleaders, Lord and Lady Holders, and Craftmasters had voted to enter Pern into the Federation of Sentient Planets, some carefully limited technology had come to Pern, along with more alien visitors. Aranea fancied it was only a matter of time until she had an Altairan weyrling in one of her classes.

And maybe, someday… she and Miyuth would board one of those freighters and protect the people of another world.

“Aranea!” Looking up, she saw Crowe crossing the weyrbowl, grinning at her and waving. “You almost done? We’re gonna go to the lake.”

“About an hour, give or take,” she guessed, leaning against her friend and taking comfort from her strength. “We’ll meet you there?”

“Sounds good.” Another hand motion, half wave and half salute, and Crowe was walking off. Aranea watched her stop and invite more people to the impromptu Gather and had to smile again. She was grateful for the deep friendship that had grown between herself and the elder brown rider. Even if she did lose Miyuth, Aranea knew with friends like Crowe, and Ignis, and the others, she’d never truly be alone.

* * *

After a final strum of his guitar, Ignis smiled at the younglings sitting in a half circle on the floor at his feet. “Go on, then,” he said. “Off to chores with you.” He watched them scatter, some heading towards the Lower Caverns, others off to family quarters, his smile fading once he was alone. Shards, sometimes even in a crowded room, he felt alone, so alone it was tempting to fall into that black void filling half his mind, to try and search for someone he’d never find. Closing verdant eyes, Ignis let himself drift into that emptiness, feeling peace settle over him. It had been too long. He couldn’t follow Spectoth, and didn’t truly wish to, if he was honest with himself. Nor did he regret his decision to stay alive and help save Insomnia. He might have stopped being a dragonman the instant his dragon was torn from him by untimely death, but that didn’t mean Ignis lost all concern for Pern’s well-being.

Ignis felt a brush at his mind that he recognized now after the years of close association. _Hello, Amicitath._ He appreciated how the green dragon always waited for Ignis to recognize her mental presence before speaking. Some days he just wasn’t up to speaking to any dragon, even his partner’s. Those occurred more infrequently now than they used to, but Ignis still was grateful for the courtesy.

_Ignis. Gladio asks if you wish to go to the lake? He flies there with Noctis. I will take you._

He considered. Ignis liked to take some quiet time after working with the children on their Teaching Ballads, but perhaps today he’d be better served by sunshine and time with friends than ruminating over his loss. _My thanks. I’ll be out shortly._

After Amicitath retreated from his mind, Ignis allowed himself one more bittersweet thought about his beloved brown. Wiping away tears he hadn’t realized were falling, Ignis stood and straightened his tunic. Harper blue cloth rather than brown wherhide, these days, since being promoted to master rank and granted the permanent posting at Insomnia Weyr several Turns back. He hadn’t thought the Masterharper so heartless as to send him away from friends who had become like family, but it had been a relief when the position had been made official.

He hung his guitar on the rack Gladio had built him, and walked out to the weyr ledge to mount Amicitath.

* * *

The sunshine felt good, and Crowe tipped her head back to spill chestnut tresses off her bare shoulders. For now she was content to watch the others splash and play while she soaked up the heat like the dragons so loved to do. She could hear the laughter and buzz of voices interspersed with high pitched shrieks of excitement from Selena, occasionally highlighted by a draconic bugle or the strange coughing bark that was a dragon’s laugh.

Each member of her Wing had so many responsibilities these days that they rarely got to while away a few hours like this, and the only thing keeping her from napping in the sunbeams was the desire to relish every moment. When she watched their esteemed Weyrleader splash at Gladio, only to get a veritable tidal wave of water pushed back his way, she chuckled. Seeing Selena carefully paddling in the shallows under Aranea’s supervision made her smile. Her foster-daughter could be a handful, but Aranea’s impatience had mellowed during her years working with weyrlings. While the brown rider had no desire for any younglings of her own, she was Crowe’s first choice for babysitter.

_I thought I was?_ Altiuth sounded indignant, and Crowe nearly apologized before she heard him laugh.

_Rude_ , she replied, turning her head towards him and grinning.

_That wasn’t rude._ He shambled over to her in that graceless way of a dragon moving on land, and reached out with one foreleg. She was so startled that she didn’t try and move out of the way, and thus found herself spilled into the lake. 

That _was rude._ Altiuth sounded smugly pleased with himself.

Crowe couldn’t find it in her to be mad; she surfaced and caught her breath so that she could laugh. A chorus of laughter rang out behind her, and she turned to see all her friends had witnessed what had happened. She grinned at them, and announced, “Only a dragon can get away with that.” Brown eyes shifted between Gladio and Noctis. “In case any of you were thinking to try.”

After swimming over to check on Selena - and finding it was the girl who was the ‘teacher’, Aranea obediently following her silly directions to ‘kick like a herdbeast’ or ‘tunnel like a snake’ - she snuck up behind Nyx, thinking to get the jump on him. But before she could dunk him under, he whirled around and caught her in his arms, causing her to squeak in an undignified manner.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he said. “Having fun?”

“Yeah,” Crowe smiled. “I really am.” She curled one arm around his shoulders, leaning her cheek against his as they watched the others. An afternoon of sun, laughter, and good company?

It was perfection. And she was grateful for every moment of it.

Her expression turned mischievous, and she wriggled out of Nyx’s embrace. When he turned to follow her movements with his eyes, she splashed at him playfully. “Catch me if you can, hero,” she taunted, before diving underwater and swimming as smoothly as a shipfish.

Whether he caught her or not didn’t matter. It was the chase that was fun.

* * *

When the sun was close to its zenith, Ignis had gotten out of the lake and started a fire. The only reason Gladio hadn’t argued against his partner’s insistence that he would cook for the group rather than bringing a carisak of meatrolls was the knowledge that it truly did help him relax. The Weyrsinger was known to take shifts in the kitchens, prepping foodstuffs under Takka’s direction alongside the weyrlings and weyrfolk assigned to the chore.

And besides, the picture made up of Ignis and Iris, heads bowed towards each other as they spoke intently - about what, Gladio could only guess, but they sure had serious faces - and peeled tubers was simply wonderful.

A piteous creel distracted them all, human and dragon alike, and Iris dropped her knife and darted away from the cookfire without a backward glance. Gladio had to chuckle. While it seemed like a lifetime ago, he remembered those days caring for a demanding dragonet, and Iris certainly had her hands full with her blue fellow.

The youngling’s hungry cry seemed to remind everyone else that they hadn’t eaten either, and shortly everyone was toweling off on the shore. Gladio walked over to stand behind Ignis, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his lithe body but not so close that he’d interfere with the work.

“If you’re going to hover,” Ignis observed dryly, “you could pick up where your sister left off.”

“Sure.” Gladio found a knife and started in on a tuber. “Good day?”

“Indeed.” Ignis paused in his peeling and turned to give Gladio one of his rare, genuine smiles. “Huntath is growing nicely.”

“He really is,” Gladio agreed, almost as keen to brag about Iris’s dragon as he was his own.

“I’ll thank Lucith for you,” Noctis drawled, startling Gladio who hadn’t noticed the Weyrleader approach.

“Fleurenth did most the work,” Ignis rejoined with a sardonic lift of ash-blonde brows. “But she and Lucith both think it humorous we would praise them for Huntath’s skills, which are his alone.”

Noctis laughed and swiped a redfruit, causing Ignis to predictably roll his eyes, though his full lips were curved in a grin. He went to join the others where they clustered around Iris and Huntath, who must be the most spoiled dragonet on all Pern.

Gladio’s own smile was blinding. It had been a long, hard road after the battle for Insomnia. But here they were, Turns later, dare he say… happy. Iris was learning about being a dragonrider, fulfilling her lifelong dream. Ignis was usually able to speak to dragons without melancholy. Noctis and Lunafreya had grown into their roles superbly, and all of Insomnia prospered under their guidance. His friends were hale and hearty, and the Wing drills were a challenge and a delight.

The only things that could have made it better were his dad alive to see Iris Impress, and their lost friends still at their sides. But today was too nice a day for Gladio to dwell on what he’d lost. He knew that he and Iris spent every day honoring Clarus’s memory by their own service as dragonriders, and hoped that wherever it was that people and dragons went on that final trip _between_ that he, and their mother, were happy.

Gladio set down the peeled tuber on the pile, and when he reached for another found no more waiting to be prepared. “What’s next?”

“I’ve got it well in hand.” Ignis leaned up and kissed Gladio’s cheek. “Go dote on your sister and that shameless dragon of hers.”

That sounded perfect to Gladio, so he did.

* * *

Lunafreya was jolted from a deep sleep by Fleurenth’s angry roar. Without stopping to pull a robe over her thin nightdress, she raced out of her weyr and down the halls until she made her way out onto the Hatching Sands where her golden queen sat vigil over her hardening clutch. When Lunafreya made it out into the muted light of the moon, she saw a tiny, quaking figure huddled on the ground, Fleurenth’s head swaying back and forth above it as she continued to bugle her discontent. 

_What is it, my heart?_ Lunafreya demanded as she raced across the Sands to find the shivering body belonged to young Selena. A bit precocious to be sneaking in to look at the queen’s eggs at her age, but all the weyr children did this eventually. Fleurenth didn’t normally get so angry, but maybe it was annoyance from being disturbed at night combined with her expected irritation at catching an interloper flitting in to goggle at her clutch.

_This one shouldn’t be here,_ Fleurenth said petulantly, easing back from the child, now cradled in Lunafreya’s arms. _Her dragon will be in another Hatching._

Lunafreya’s golden brows arched in surprise. Fleurenth had never before hinted at any foreknowledge about dragon/human pairings before eggs had hatched - or, if Lunafreya was understanding correctly, even laid - and it caught her off guard. Stroking Selena’s hair comfortingly, she replied, _She’s just here to look like all the children do. She won’t hurt your eggs._

Fleurenth did not deign to respond, but hissed and drew the egg nearest to Lunafreya and Selena closer to her massive bulk, rolling it until it was arranged on a mound of sand to her satisfaction.

Lunafreya sighed and walked over, carrying the slight child easily on her hip. Shells, but Fleurenth’s temper had been high since laying these eggs. Not unexpected, but she’d never been so dramatic over past clutches. She reached out to scratch Fleurenth’s eye-ridges, noticing the inner lids dropping down to cover her multifaceted eyes in pleasure. Hopefully the gold would calm and then could both get more sleep before morning.

“Can I?” Selena’s voice was shy, but the grin on her small mouth held all of her foster-father’s charm.

“Yes, but carefully - don’t touch her eyes.” Lunafreya helped the little girl to reach, and soon Fleurenth was crooning happily at all the attention from both humans, gaze whirring a content, brilliant green.

“We need to go back to bed,” Lunafreya said. “Your parents won’t want to wake up and find you missing.”

“Father knows I’m here,” Selena said cheerfully as Lunafreya carried her back inside the Weyr. “He showed me the path.”

_Of course he did._ Lunafreya strove for a happy medium between stern Weyrwoman and loving honorary aunt. “Be that as it may, you shouldn’t go during the night.”

“Yes, Weyrwoman,” Selena said contritely, snuggling her tiny body closer to Lunafreya.

After she had returned the child to her bed and made her way back to her own, Lunafreya sighed. Would she ever experience motherhood herself? Hard to believe that she now yearned for something she’d dreaded growing up as a Lady Holder, living in nervous fear of the day she’d be expected to breed up a horde of younglings for whatever Lord Holder her brother married her off to. But now she felt eager to embark on that stage of life with Noctis and all their friends. The family ties between the members of Kingsglaive Wing were strong, not needing a blood connection to inspire the depth of feelings they shared.

Lunafreya followed all the healer’s advice. She ate the right foods and didn’t drink any wine. She got exercise and cared for herself as assiduously as she cared for her dragon. Master Tellah kept saying ‘it will happen when it happens’, and she supposed he was right.

She nestled closer to Noctis, who rolled over and flung an arm over her in his sleep, making her smile. Even without babies to dote on, some days it felt like they were parents to the entire Weyr, regardless of the ages of their people. Leadership and parenthood weren’t that dissimilar, she mused. You had to find that balance between logic and emotion, to do your best to guide and teach while not being overbearing or unfair. And sometimes you had to pass judgement and dispense consequences, though thankfully those times had been infrequent during her tenure as Weyrwoman.

_Why are you thinking so loudly?_ Fleurenth’s voice was equal parts amused and tetchy. _You should sleep. So I can sleep._

Lunafreya tried to muffle her chuckle, lest she wake Noctis. _Yes, yes, I’m sorry. Sleep well, dearheart._

An echo of laughter was felt down their mindlink, and then Lunafreya felt her partner ease into slumber. It was an example she should follow, and she squeezed her eyes shut after rearranging the blankets and rolling to find a more comfortable position. But sleep did not come, and she spent the next hours tossing and turning as infrequently as possible. Finally when dawn was starting to cast it’s rosy light into the weyr, she gave up on trying and sat up, sighing in frustration.

“Did you sleep at all?” Noctis asked, his voice blurred with sleep.

“A bit,” she said. “Fleurenth needed me.”

He nodded, sitting up beside her. “Everything okay?”

“She’s just being particularly broody this time around. Selena snuck in to see the eggs, and Fleurenth caught her.” Lunafreya grinned. “Nyx helped her get in, the scoundrel.”

Noctis laughed, sounding so young and carefree that one who didn’t know him would never think him the Weyrleader. “I’m not surprised. He’s the one that showed me and Gladio the way in Turns ago.”

Lunafreya just shook her head, chuckling. “I suppose since I’m already up, I should get dressed and start today’s work.”

“Or,” Noctis said persuasively, those twilight eyes of his glinting with mischief, “you could stay in bed a while.” 

And he was gentleman enough to stay and keep her company.

* * *

Toying with his fork, Noctis glanced idly around the Lower Caverns. It was a bit late for lunch and early for dinner, so he didn’t have much company for his meal, but that was okay. He could see Takka and his staff working hard to get the evening meal ready, and probably already starting in on preparation for tomorrow’s breakfast. Maybe Noctis could make one of those. He winced, trying to hide it behind a forkful of food. 

Noctis always knew being the Weyrleader carried a heavy workload. He’d watched his father and mother give so much of their time, their _selves_ to the job, never complaining, and he tried his best to emulate them in honor to their memory. But By the First Egg, days like the idyllic one last week, swimming with his friends, were far too rare. Joining the FSP and having offworld guests had added a whole new dimension to his and Lunafreya’s workload. Granted, it wasn’t solely within the Weyr’s purview; the Lord Holders and Craftmasters all had a part as well. But it did add more tasks to an already busy schedule, and days like today, Noctis couldn’t help but resent it just a little.

And now he felt shame, quick and piercing, for daring to feel resentful for his myriad duties when at least he was alive to perform them.

A resonant hum from outdoors was a welcome distraction. The song the dragons sang signified the Hatching was eminent, and Noctis could think of no better way to spend the rest of the day. Attending such auspicious events was one of his few duties that was never a burden. Hatchings were always filled with joy.

He made his way out to the Sands and crossed them with alacrity, grateful his wherhide boots protected his feet from most of the scorching heat. Noctis joined Lunafreya who was standing at Fleurenth’s side. The great golden queen was warbling softly, her eyes whirling the yellow of concern, though their facets sparkled with flecks of green and blue, showing that she wasn’t too upset.

“Good day, Fleurenth,” he said politely, but the queen ignored him, too focused on the youths scattered amidst her eggs.

“Lunafreya.” They’d dispensed with social niceties long ago - in private, at least.

“Noctis.” Lunafreya’s small, strong hand clasped his, their fingers entwining.

There was no queen egg, and no one they were close to was standing or had a relative standing as candidate today, so Noctis was able to just enjoy the panorama, watching lifemates find each other, observing those first moments when the bond settled in. The dragons’ creels would fade into content croons; the humans’ eyes would fill with unabashed wonder.

_’Not bronze’_ , Lucith teasingly quoted those first words Noctis had said upon realizing he’d Impressed.

Noctis laughed. _The folly of youth_ , he responded mirthfully. _You know I have no regrets about being your partner_. He paused, grinning with such mischief shining in his cerulean eyes that Lunafreya gave him a sidelong glance. _Could do without the paperwork, though._

Hatchings always seemed to be over in an eyeblink even when they lasted several hours, and this one was no exception. Assistant Weyrlingmaster Aranea would be settling the new pairs in the weyrling barracks, and Weyrlingmaster Cor would be seeing off the disappointed candidates who were not chosen, save for any who opted to stay in the Weyr and make a life for themselves that may or may not eventually include a dragon. Noctis and Lunafreya made for the Great Hall where a formal feast would be served; it was their duty to congratulate the families and welcome the new riders as they trickled in from settling their dragons to sleep after their first meals.

Enough of these had happened over his years as Weyrleader that such conversations could be rote, but never were. This was one of Noctis’s favorite parts of his job, welcoming the newcomers to the Weyr, chatting with their proud families or sponsors, and allowing himself to think back to that time in his own life, newly Impressed and happier than he imagined possible.

He and Lunafreya stayed until the last weyrling had gone to bed and the last guests had been seen off. All too soon it was just the two of them sitting at the head table, and couple of weyrfolk sweeping the massive chamber.

“That went well,” Lunafreya said before a massive yawn overtook her. She lifted one hand to cover her mouth, then smiled at him sheepishly. Noctis couldn’t help but smile back, finding her occasional shy flashes endearing. He saw her flex her legs as if preparing to stand up, and reached out, taking her hand in his and lifting it to his lips. Twilight eyes met those as bright as a summer’s sylleblossom as Noctis brushed a kiss over her knuckles before releasing her hand and sliding it into her hair, drawing her near.

No matter how many times they kissed, it stayed just as sweet as the first time. Familiar now, yes, but that was all right - it was another kind of homecoming, their kiss, each gesture renewing their commitment to each other, to Insomnia.

To peace.

When they broke apart, they shared a tender smile, and Lunafreya laid her head on Noctis’s shoulder. He rested his head atop hers and let his eyes close, basking in the moment of quiet companionship, the only noise now the crackle of the hearthfires. So quiet it was that he was able to hear Lunafreya’s breathing even out into the steady cadence of sleep, and it wasn’t long thereafter that Noctis followed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that you've read it I can give this thanks without a spoiler:   
> Thanks to [Forkbeard](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Forkbeard) for telling me a while back 'hey you know what would be a cool ending image for this story?'  
> It was his idea for me to parallel the XV Lunoct ending image, and it hit me right in the feels!!
> 
> That's the end fam! I can't believe we made it this far!! Thank you all for reading, commenting, and supporting me along the way!
> 
> I'm not done writing in this world, so if you haven't yet, I humbly suggest subscribing to me as an author, or subscribing to the series itself - the one shots I have planned will be added to it.

**Author's Note:**

> Chat with me on [Tumblr](https://xylianna.tumblr.com/)! I'm happy to answer any questions about either of the worlds I'm smashing together.
> 
> [Dragonriders of Pern Wiki](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dragonriders_of_Pern)
> 
> [Final Fantasy XV Wiki](http://finalfantasy.wikia.com/wiki/Final_Fantasy_XV)
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Kudos and comments are statistically proven to make me write faster, and I sure do appreciate all of your feedback. <3 <3


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